


High Hopes and Bloody Hearts

by communikate



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gang World, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, BAMF Allura (Voltron), Blood and Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, Gang Violence, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Season 4 Spoilers, Slow Burn, Small season 3 spoilers, klance, the literal slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2018-11-17 11:09:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 73,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11274219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/communikate/pseuds/communikate
Summary: “You killed one of my best clients.”“You can peddle your drugs elsewhere,” the Galran sneered as if he didn't have a cooler of the dead man's organs, “Now, I need to go or this'll all be for not.” He snatched up the cooler, and Lance tilted his gun down and fired. It hit the dead man's shoe, embedding itself deep into the sole.“I told you not to move!” Lance growled.(Or where the Galra and Altea gangs live in the same city, and Lance meets a boy harvesting the organs of one of Altea's drug dealers and the shit that ensues.)





	1. Ignition

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Here is the gang/mafia AU that no one asked for! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> WARNING: There is a rather detailed description of a dead body in this chapter, and I wanted to give you a heads up!

Lance stiffened. His hand twitched on the grip of his gun, ready to pull it out of the back of his waistband. The boy watched him with an equal amount of wariness. The boy’s hands were bloodied, and he slowly peeled off one glove. The plastic stretched and snapped back with a sickening crack.

The only other sound in the alley was the slight shifting of melting ice.

The boy began rising to his feet, “Stop moving!” Lance's voice was harsh, and much more commanding than he thought it would be. The boy rose to his full height, ignoring Lance. He smirked and pulled off the other glove.

With his toe, he closed the lid to the cooler.

“And what if I don't, Altean?” The boy sneered, one hand resting on his hip and the other pushing back his hair. A small streak of blood chased after his hand. “You really don't want to mess with Galra.” Lance felt the boy’s eyes drag over him.

He could see the way they lingered on the blue and white shirt he wore and the tattoo on his wrist. Lance swallowed, looking at the boy in front of him. He wore a red motorcycle jacket and black pants, but nothing purple to denote he was Galra.

“We would eat you alive.” The boy licked his lips and laughed as Lance drew his gun. He held it firmly, one hand open palmed to steady the gun.

“Yeah,” Lance licked his lips, “I would like to see you try.”

The boy ignored the gun and reached down to pick up the cooler.

“I said to stop moving.” The boy finally listened to him, stopping his motion, fingers barely glancing the handle of the cooler. “You were the one that messed with Altea first.”

The boy raised an eyebrow at Lance, “Oh?”

Lance nodded to the boy in the alley. He tried not to let his gaze linger for long, but damn. He wasn't used to this kind of thing. Not the way that the skin flapped open like well worn leather or the sawn open ribs. The eyes of one of his best clients were glossy, not from a high but in death. His fingers were bloody, and Lance noticed a line of scratches going down the Galran's throat.

“You killed one of my best clients.”

“You can peddle your drugs elsewhere,” the Galran sneered as if he didn't have a cooler of the dead man's organs, “Now, I need to go or this'll all be for not.” He snatched up the cooler, and Lance tilted his gun down and fired. It hit the dead man's shoe, embedding itself deep into the sole.

“I told you not to move!” Lance growled.

The boy sighed, and put more weight on one foot, “What can I tell you to make you feel better about this whole thing, Altean?” The boy took a single step back, and Lance's finger twitched on the trigger, “Would you like to know that he was so out of his mind and frothing with an overdose there was no way he could've survived?” Another step backward. Lance was frozen. He wanted to advance but he couldn't.

His gaze jumped again to Harold, or at least that's what he told Lance to call him – it's not as if Lance actually went by Lance in this trade. Everyone had a name, and of course he knew the golden boy's.

“Would you like to know how he begged me to kill him?” The golden boy purred as he took another step back. “Would you like that, Blue?”

Lance jumped, terrified that Galra's golden boy, the shining star of the organ trafficking trade, knew who he was. He looked again at the dead body before the sound of a shot rang through the alley.

He heard the noise before he felt the pain. It was splitting and all consuming as it tore through the side of his calf. Swearing, he clutched at it. The bullet had only grazed him, but it was enough to distract him from the running footsteps and roaring of a motor.

A red motorcycle sped past him.

Lance was never more grateful to know who the golden boy was. He knew Red, and so he knew who to exact his revenge on.

  


****

  


Lance slammed open the door to the “Club House” as they liked to call it. It officially was a bar titled “Legendary,” that everyone of importance knew was Altean headquarters. Pidge snapped her eyes up from behind the bar.

“Lance, that's company property. Don't make me hurt you.” She growled, cleaning off another glass. She claimed that it was more habit than anything to polish all of the glasses, something to keep her hands busy.

Grumbling, Lance limped to the bar. Pidge raised a single eyebrow, opening her mouth to say something, but Lance cut her off, “I know. I know. If I get blood on the bar, I'm done for. Got it.” He slumped against the bar, “Can you call Hunk out?”

Pidge rolled her eyes and went to the small telephone by the cash register. She quickly dialed a long set of numbers. First was the number, then a passcode, and then the extension. “Yeah, Lance is whining about a scratch. Can you come up? Thanks.” Pidge hung up with more force than necessary.

Lance kept replaying the entire scene in his mind. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen dead bodies in his line of work. It was kind of expected. But he had never seen one flayed open and harvested. He cursed.

The small elevator dinged in the corner of the bar. It was set behind the kitchen with a small curtain draped in front of it. Hunk stepped out with a small first aid kit.

Without another word, he came to Lance's side and examined his leg. “What happened? I thought you were just going to see Harold?” Hunk began to talk as he treated Lance's wound. Yeah, it wasn't bad, but being cut open and burned by a bullet wasn't the most pleasant thing. Thankfully he wouldn't need stitches.

“It went fabulously when I found him dead in the alley with a Galra hands deep in his abdomen,” Lance cursed and chugged the drink Pidge had just wordlessly set down in front of him. Rum and coke. Strong. And damn it burned.

“What the actual fuck?” Pidge cursed, picking up the phone again. She was mumbling to herself as she punched in the numbers harder than necessary, “Allura? Yeah, can you come up right now?” She paused for a second, “Coran too? Thanks.”

The three of them waited a few minutes in silence before the soft digging of the elevator tipped them off before Allura's booted heels did. She stalked into the bar, a determined set to her features. She strode over to Lance and gave his injury and unsold stash casually lying out on the counter a once over.

“What the hell is going on here?” She snapped.

“Well when I went to see – ”

She cut him off with the abrupt wave of her hand, “I'm talking about protocol. I don't care how shitty of a day you've had, Blue.” Lance flinched at that. She only called them by their code names when they were on the streets or when she was extraordinarily mad. And since they were in their home territory, Lance knew it was the latter, “We still have protocol to follow. Why is the product just sitting on the bar? The bar opens in what?” She glanced at her phone, “30 minutes and you have a pound of coke sitting on the bar, Blue?!”

He flinched, “Sorry, I'll – ”

“I'll take care of it.” Hunk interrupted, grabbing the large ziplock bag and shuffling toward the elevator, “Let Lance tell you what happened.”

And so Lance did. He told them all about how he was going to deliver his normal stash to Harold. Harold was a smaller drug dealer in their employ. He definitely kept some of the product for himself, but there was enough profit from the exchange that it was well worth it. Everyone knew that Altean supply was the purest and best on the market. It wasn't hard to convince small dealers to use their merchandise.

He had walked the streets with his hands deep in his pockets, a little chilly for an April night. Harold and Lance had established a rotating meet up system. The alley was this month's. When he arrived, he almost couldn't believe his eyes.

The golden boy – Red – had his hands deep in Harold's abdomen. A pair of bolt cutters and an open ice box were by his side. There was some blood splattered against his red motorcycle jacket, and his hair was drawn up in a messy ponytail.

Lance had frozen, watched the scene play out. Watched how carefully the Galran used a scalpel to cut out the heart and the stomach and the kidneys. He watched him pry them all and gently lay them in the ice box. It was almost fascinating.

It took a minute for Lance to snap out of it, “What the hell are you doing?” He charged forward, hand reaching for his gun.

That was the second time he was frozen that night. Of course he knew of Red. He knew what he looked like, and even if he wasn't wearing Galra's colors, his hands were wrist deep in a dead body. That was a giveaway if anything.

The boy's eyes were grey. Like a sky completely covered with clouds before a storm. Dark and menacing and twisting in color. His heart-shaped face and high cheek bones shone on the low light of the alley. He was mesmerizingly good looking. (Especially if you didn't look at his bloody hands.)

Lance left that part out.

Allura was already looking flushed, her dark skin resonating with anger. She clenched her hands, and he continued. He finished the story, his voice degrading into silence.

She didn't say anything for a long while.

“So,” She spit out, “The Galra are coming onto our territory and performing their business with our clientele. Is that what you're trying to tell me?” Her voice was low, growled out through clenched teeth.

There was silence in the bar except for the soft squeaking of Pidge's cleaning.

“Red did say that Harold was dying and begging for his death when he killed him,” Lance mumbled out, unsure of why he said it.

“Like that gives them the right - the _fucking_ right to come into _my_ territory and harvest.” She slammed a hand down on the bar. Her fury was magnifying. She pulled her silver hair from her bun just so that she could spin it up again.

She shot Coran a pointed look. He hadn't said anything the entire time he was there. He was a lanky man with bright red hair. His hand played with the edge of his mustache. He casually leaned against a support pole in the bar.

“It is curious that a Galra would be so deep in our territory.” Coran hummed slightly as he thought, “Part of me would believe that he was initially here for another reason. Maybe this Harold fellow was dying, and Red just couldn't pass up the chance to harvest.”

Pidge spit into the sink, “They're so goddamn bloodthirsty. They're like an infection.”

Allura sank into a bar stool and twirled her finger, a silent signal for Pidge to make her regular. In the past few years both gangs had grown, and even though they didn't run in the same circles, the city seemed to shrink. Soon there wouldn't be enough room for both of them.

Pidge gently set down a dry martini. Allura gulped it down and pushed the glass back to Pidge.

She turned to Lance, eyes of fire, “You will find Red, and you will bring him to me.”

  


****

  


Keith cursed, pushing his bike faster. He knew the organs were dying. There was only so long they could stay alive on ice. And he wasn't even sure if any of the druggie's organs would be viable. But he pushed his bike harder. He wove through traffic on the highway, riding along lane lines and skimming car mirrors.

He finally pulled into the small clinic that was the basis for a lot of operations. There they had several machines that could work to keep the organ alive, but not for long. He had frantically called Thace to gather the clientele that needed these transplants.

Thace had grumbled in surprised to hear what Keith was bringing back. His mission today hadn't been for harvesting. It hadn't been for the Galra at all.

Pulling the cooler out of the small trunk of his motorcycle, he rushed through the back door of the clinic. Thace confidently took the cooler from Keith's hands.

“Nice job, Red.” He commented before walking into the back.

Glancing through the mirror, he could see Haggar preparing for surgery. She was one of the main driving forces behind their trade, without her and her skills, they wouldn't be able to do half of their business. She actually ran this clinic, assisting underprivileged families and the like. And that was how she had met Keith.

Keith never spoke about his life before joining Galra. He didn't speak of it to anyone. He might have spoken to Shiro in due time since he was the member that took him in. But he didn't even have that anymore.

His phone buzzed with a text.

Matt: _Juniberries tonight?_  
Keith: _See you there at 12:30?_  
Matt: _cool_  


It was already 11pm. He had just enough time to run back to his flat, shower and return. He quickly let Thace know he was leaving, waving through the small window to the makeshift operating room.

Thace quickly excused himself, allowing Prorok to take over as the surgical first assistant. Keeping his hands away from any contaminants, he propped the door open with his foot. “Just wanted to let you know that these organs are really nice, Keith. Haggar sends her regards.”

Keith nodded, a small smile ghosting his lips. He hadn't really smiled since Shiro disappeared, but this was at least a melancholy taste.

“She's whining a little that you didn't take the liver too. She – ”

“I am not whining, Thace. If you spread lies like that again, I will sell your kidney and you won't even notice until your only one fails.” Her tone was harsh, but Thace still laughed.

Keith rolled his eyes and stood on his tiptoes, “He was a drug addict. You wouldn't have wanted him anyway.”

Thace snorts a laugh for a second before freezing, “Keith.”

The air conditioning from the makeshift operating room fans across Keith's face.

Prorok his the first to speak, “Is this one of Altea's clients?”

“He OD'd right before my eyes,” Keith dropped back to his heels and crossed his arms, “I wasn't going to leave his perfectly healthy organs to rot or burn. God knows what the Alteans would have done.”

“Probably what normal people do,” Thace reprimanded.

Haggar was the one who broke the silence that settled over them. She reverently held up the heart from the ice, cradling it in her gloved hands. “Keith, I think they're beautiful. Much too beautiful to burn or rot.” Her eyes were shining amber as she turned to face him. Her smile was manic and twitched slightly at the corners, “Thank you.”

He nodded. Beginning to walk away.

He heard the operating room door shut completely and Thace's hurried footsteps to catch up with him. “Keith. I know you've been searching for Shiro. Is that why you were in Altean territory tonight?” Keith didn't respond or turn around. He at least stopped walking. But he knew that Thace got all the answers he needed from the stiffening of his shoulders and the fisting of his hands, “Please be careful. Altea may not be as ruthless as Galra, but they are damn vengeful.”

“Got it,” Keith ground out before stomping back off to his motorcycle.

He sped home and quickly changed into more comfortable bar clothes. Matt was waiting for him at their usual table in Juniberries. It was a bar, not unlike Legendary, in the Galra area of the city. They served way too many draft drinks and wonderful brownies and fries.

It was an open air bar with a large courtyard section strung up with Christmas lights and fake purple flowers.

Matt was lanky with golden-brown hair. He twitched a wide smile as he waved Keith over. “Please don't tell me you're growing your hair out for a man bun?” His tone was light as he pushed a beer into Keith's hand.

Keith rolled his eyes, “Yeah,” he cracked the beer and took a long swig, “You know how I love those hipster types.”

They both looked at each other with straight faces for a solid minute. Keith claimed that Matt smiled first, and of course, Matt claimed the opposite. They both started laughing, banging the table and howling with laughter.

It was like that for them. This easy conversation that never drifted to anything serious. But tonight it was a little different. Matt knew about Keith's most recent delivery to the clinic. The integral members of Galra always learned things out within milliseconds of them happening. So Matt knew where Keith must have been and why.

He took another long sip from his beer, finally finishing it with a burp, “So want to explain yourself, Red?”

“Rebel, give me a break,” Keith groaned into his beer.

“It's been a year.” Matt whispered. However much they had to drink didn't show on Matt's face. “If Shiro wanted to come back, he would already be here.”

Keith fiddled with the tab until it broke off into his beer can, “I just don't think – it wasn't like him to – he wouldn't leave without saying goodbye. I know that. Something must have happened.” Keith's fingers crushed the metal tin of the can, “I just can't get it out of my head that he needs me to find him.”

Matt's hand slowly grabbed Keith's, drawing his eyes from his beer to that of his comrade, “I know. But there’s a point in time when you have to stop looking.” Keith wanted to pull his hand from Matt's, but he wasn't a strong arm of Galra for nothing, “I can see the bags under your eyes. I know that you barely get any sleep.”

Keith finally managed to tear his hand from Matt's grip. Matt sighed, “I'm not asking you to stop looking, Keith. I have, but I know that I can't make you. I just want you to take better care of yourself.”

Nodding at Matt's words, Keith rose from his seat, “Alright,” he sighed off the depressing topic that Matt brought up, “Next round's on me! What do you want?”

“Shouldn't you know already?” Matt rolled his eyes. Keith laughed and stumbled toward the bar.

  


****

  


Lance cursed after another shot of tequila burned the back of his throat. He sucked on a lime as Pidge rolled her eyes. She didn't have enough time to spare to give him another shot – not that she would by the bloodshot quality of his eyes and the limpness of his limbs. He'd been like that ever since Allura left the bar in a flurry of anger and the scent of gin.

But of course he was distraught. He'd already let Red go once. How was he supposed to catch him again? It's not as if Red usually wandered into Altean territory.

And yes, Lance could hold his own, but he was a dealer for a reason. He was persuasive, suave, a man of alliances and a silver tongue. Hunk was the bouncer of the bar and one of the many strong arms of Altea. Coran was one too, despite his age.

When Pidge wasn't bartending, they were hacking and destroying security camera footage or actually creating some of the drugs. She claimed she wasn't a master of chemistry, and that engineering was her standpoint. But after the old mixer had died, Pidge took it up, claiming that no one else was competent enough. And she didn't want to have to clean up any more dead bodies.

So that was that.

And they had never been more popular.

There were several negotiations that Allura was working on to spread their influences to several different cities, expanding their trade. Sure they were profitable now, but in two cities? The only issue was that other cities typically had gangs already in place. They had fought hard enough to expand their territory into what it was now, starting in a new place seemed impossible.

Especially with the Galra breathing down their back.

Lance sighed.

“That's a big sigh there,” A soft voice purred in his ear. Lance jumped up, blush already coating his cheeks. Her smile was soft, flirtatious. Her blonde hair was twisted into naturally tight curls and bound back with a simple headband. She was wearing a skintight blue dress and blue eyeliner to bring out her brown eyes. She sank on to the barstool next to him.

His voice stuttered as he began, “Oh hey, Nyma.”

“What's with the long face?” She questioned, waving to Pidge. Pidge simply nodded her head before pushing a malibu bay breeze her way. Nyma smiled with thanks, taking a small sip before turning back to Lance.

“You wouldn't understand,” He grumbled, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Just because I'm new doesn't mean I don't understand things, Lance,” Nyma bit out. She turned away from him slightly, taking a large sip of her drink. She moaned in the back of her throat, “Fuck Pidge, you don't know how much I needed this.”

Pidge smiled tightly before tending the other end of the bar.

Lance placed a warm hand on Nyma's thigh. She seemed startled at first before melting into his touch. She looked at Lance through her eyelashes.

“Red killed one of my customers.”

“What the _fuck_ ,” Nyma growled out through clenched teeth.

“Harvested right in front of me.”

“Holy shit!” Nyma turned completely on her barstool to face Lance. She placed a cold hand over Lance’s that gently massaged her thigh, “Who was it?”

“Harold.”

Lance's thumb found the hem of Nyma's dress and slowly traced the line of it along her thigh. She shivered under his touch. “I'm so sorry, Lance.”

“That's not even the worst part,” He grumbled.

“I sincerely doubt that anything could be worse than that,” Nyma laughed at that. Her laughter was flirtatious and fun. She tilted her head to the side, taking a small sip out of the thin black straw.

Lance pulled Nyma's drink to his mouth, taking a large gulp of the coconut, pineapple, fruity concoction, “Allura wants me to go after Red.” He paused, fingers stilling on Nyma's thigh and glass, “She wants me to bring him to her.”

Nyma pulled the glass from Lance's hand and downed the rest of it. She waved at Pidge, motioning with two fingers. Pidge narrowed her gaze, but nodded before passing Nyma two more drinks. She handed one to Lance.

“You're so right. That is by far the worst part.”

  


****

  


Keith was just sitting back down at the table when his phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket.

Bounty Hunter: _Blue has been ordered for a chase and capture on Red._

“Fuck,” He growled, shoving his phone back in his pocket. Matt glanced up in concern, “Blue's after Red. A chase and capture order.”

Matt opened his mouth, “Don't fucking say it,” Keith cut him off, but Matt continued anyway.

“All the most reason to stop searching.” Matt's voice was small. Keith downed the rest of his beer, whatever number it was. Maybe Matt was right. “Alright,” Matt stood and stretched, “I need to head back. I have class at 9am tomorrow.”

Keith shrugged his jacket on as he walked out of the bar beside Matt, “I don't know why you take those Saturday MCAT classes, dude. You know that Haggar could teach you everything you need to know.”

“Yeah,” Matt hummed, “But then I'd been indebted to her, and I would rather be in hundreds of thousands of actual debt than in debt to Haggar.”

Keith snorted, “Oh god, I agree.”

Thankfully his apartment was within walking distance from the bar. Both of theirs were, in opposite directions however. But that was why Juniberries was so convenient. Keith left his bike parked on the side of the road, too drunk to drive and confident no one would be stupid enough to take it.

He opened the door to his apartment, flipping on the lights. Not much had changed in the year since Shiro had left. Maybe the pile of trash by the trash can was larger. And the amount of empty ramen cups or microwavable TV dinners. But all of Shiro's things were left untouched.

This was the first time in a year that Keith debated getting another roommate to help with rent.

He quickly swallowed the thought, attributing it to his drunk mind. He shrugged off his clothes and snuggled into bed. He dreamed of Shiro.

Shiro had been the last one to suggest that Keith join Galra, but the first one to accept him and offer to take him in. He never once considered the impact that raising a teenager would have on his life at age 20. Shiro had given him, a 12 year old Keith, his own bedroom and responsibilities. But never Galra responsibilities. Keith had been so angry. He had already proven his loyalty to the gang, and he was ready to help.

Instead he just sat around the clinic or around the nearby warehouse that was renovated for gang use. He asked as many questions as he could think of. He heard tales of the Alteans and how they had begun leaching off of Galra's territory and stealing their clientele. He heard of their savagery and how they got people addicted to stronger and stronger drugs. How they laced common drugs with stronger more addictive ones to keep them coming back. He heard how they ruined lives with their prices. Heard how they killed with their drugs and never honored their dead bodies.

At least the Galra gave death a purpose.

Typically the Galra didn't kill though. They may have promised other surgeries to people only for them to figure out they had a kidney removed as well. But there were those who were dying, and if they had enough money to pay, they would live.

At least it was better than paying money to die.

Shiro always seemed to flinch when Keith repeated Sendeck's or Haggar's or even Thace's words. There were some days when they sat at the kitchen table, and Shiro would ask him confusing questions.

Keith was seventeen and eating honey nut cheerios when Shiro asked him the strangest question of all, “Would you kill to get me an organ I needed?” Shiro couldn't meet his eyes, hands folded on the table.

Keith choked on his bite of cereal. “Dude, how could you ask that?” Shiro's eyes flicked up from the table to meet Keith's with such uncertainty and hope. Keith coughed, clearing his throat, “Of course I would.”

Shiro pushed his chair out and walked into his bedroom.

He stopped asking Keith those questions.

Except the night before he disappeared. He stood in Keith's doorway, the light of the hallway making him a silhouette. Keith could smell the alcohol wafting off his body. Keith had just turned 21 and was a little offended that Shiro hadn't invited him out.

Rolling over, Keith growled in a sleep coated voice, “What Shiro?”

“Would you kill for me?”

“Of _fucking_ course I would.” Keith threw one of his pillows at Shiro, “Stop asking me stupid questions and let me sleep.”

Shiro hadn't been around that morning. He had disappeared without a trace. He left his phone on the table, dead and passcode changed. His fingerprint removed.

  


Keith woke the morning after Juniberries with Matt with a headache and a burn along his neck. He stumbled to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. There were the deep grooves of the druggie's jagged fingernails along his neck. Examining his neck in the mirror, he sighed and rubbed antiseptic on it.

He would kill for Shiro. He would kill for Galra. He would kill, because that's who he was. Because that's what his family did. The Galra were his family, and they killed.

  


****

  


Lance groaned as he flicked off his alarm. He wasn't meant to get up this early, not after spending hours at the bar chatting with Nyma. She let him stroke her leg all night, let him lean in close and whisper in her ear. He finally thought things were going somewhere, when she got a call and promptly had to leave to go home.

Pidge groaned something like, “I knew this was going to happen. I shouldn't have served you guys anything.” She pushed their tab onto Lance. He didn't even want to look at it. Even if the prices were reduced since they were members of Altea, it still wasn't pleasant. He gave Pidge his card, never looking at the check.

This morning, he was also regretting last night for another reason. His head pounded and his stomach roiled when he sat up too fast. He fumbled for the water bottle he left on his desk for this occasion. He emptied the contents before stumbling into the living room.

“It liiiiiiiiives,” Pidge cried as Hunk flipped a pancake.

“Don't make fun of me. I'm suffering,” Lance whined as he slumped into the chair next to Pidge. She had her heels on the chair, knees pressed up against her chest. She was typing away at her computer. Constantly typing. A harsh grating noise against Lance's sensitive ears.

He groaned, “Pidge, I don't mean to be a dick, but your typing is literally killing my head right now.”

“Fine,” Pidge rolled her eyes, “I guess I'll just stop looking for more information on Red. Make your own job harder.”

Lance sat up straight just as Hunk placed a large plate of pancakes in front of Lance. Then a large smoothie and a glass of water. Lance's eyes shone as he looked up at Hunk, “What did I ever do to deserve a friend like you?”

“Just eat up,” Hunk grumbled, a slight blush on his cheeks. Pidge took another stab of her undressed pancake, eating it slowly.

“So,” Pidge began after Lance finished his first pancake and looked a little more human, “I was looking at security footage from Harold's alley. And there isn't actually footage from the alley itself. So based on your story from yesterday, I was actually able to get a decent shot of Red's motorcycle.”

Speaking around a mouthful of pancake, Lance asked, “So? How does that help me?”

“Because I know where it is right now, and if you stole it, you could definitely make him come to you instead of you trying to find him.” Pidge smiled mischievously.

Hunk blanched. Lance sat up straighter, “Where is it?”

“It looks like it's still parked in front of a bar called Juniberries.” Pidge typed a couple more rapid things on her computer. “Judging from last week's security camera footage, Red didn't come to pick up his bike until 1pm on Saturday.”

Lance glanced at a clock. It was 10am. He might just have enough time to figure this out.

  


****

  


Keith was trembling as he dialed Matt's number.

“Hello?” Matt's voice was groggy.

“He took her.”

“Took what Keith? Who took what?”

“He _fucking_ stole her!” Keith was roaring now, clasping the piece of paper in his hand, “ _Blue fucking stole my bike!!_ ”

Keith was at Matt's apartment by the time Matt was stumbling to put his shoes on. They both had the same thought to come to each other, but Keith having already been dressed and awake was faster.

He stormed into his friend's apartment flapping the paper in his hands, “Blue fucking stole my bike, Matt. Oh god, I want to kill him. I should have fucking shot him in the heart when I had the chance. I grazed him just so I could get away.” His tone turned mocking and snarky as he snapped around, “Didn't want to spill Altean blood on Altean territory.”

Matt settled into the couch as Keith paced around the living room, “And then he has the audacity to leave this fucking note.” He shoved it into Matt's face.

“If I didn't know that he had orders to chase and capture, I would be there – fucking guns blazing and shooting the motherfucker right in the face. I would love to see the shock on Blue's fucking face when I shot him right between the eyes.”

Keith kept rambling, so Matt turned his attentions directly to the note.

_Dear Red,_

_You took something from our territory. Now I took something from yours. Trust me, she was begging for it.  
Let’s have a little chat. Come to Paladin Park at 3:00pm._

_Xoxo, Blue without You <3_

“I mean why the hell is it a neutral area. If it wasn't neutral I could just fucking neuter him. I'm sure Haggar could teach me in the two hours I have left,” Keith was snarling. He was frothing.

His bike, his precious bike was the last gift Shiro had ever given him. And now some jackass had stolen it. An Altean jackass nonetheless.

Thace had said Altean's were vengeful, but they wouldn't even know what hit them.

  


****

  


“Oh my god,” Pidge was laughing hysterically. “I can't believe that went as well as it did.”

Lance was slumped on his couch, feet up. He was tired, but damn he was proud of himself. Pidge had said that Red arrived for his bike mere minutes after Lance had left. The tantrum he had thrown had been marvelous. They had looped that section of the footage about six times.

There was no way that he wouldn't be at Paladin Park. It was a neutral zone, but Lance was still worried about being shot between the eyes. He would have Hunk positioned outside the park, ready to jump Red if he left with a head start.

If Lance started violence in the park, it would be hell for Altea to pay. Because regarding their tentative treaty, Red had done nothing to invalidate it. That made Allura even more furious. But her attitude changed when he had wheeled in Red's bike, bringing a small smile back to her face.

She was at the bar, doing paperwork when she turned around to the noise of the bells. Her eyebrows were scrunched as she set down her paperwork, “You better have a _damn_ good reason for bringing that dirty ass bike into my bar, Lance.”

“It's Red's bike.” His smile was triumphant.

Allura did a double take. “Oh,” Her smile was widening and the words that fell out of her mouth were deliciously sweet, “That is the most fabulous thing I have heard all week.” And then she was laughing, tumbling off the barstool and wiping tears from her face.

The elevator dinged and out walked Allura's boyfriend. He was well muscled and always smiling. With gentle hands, he pulled her from the floor, “What's so funny?” His voice was light and caring. Allura still couldn't speak, so she simply pointed at the bike.

His face dropped slightly, but Lance was still smiling proudly, “What do you think, Takashi?” Takashi just rubbed the scar on his nose and released Allura.

“I,” He stumbled over his words, walking back toward the elevator, “I need to get some work done.”

“Takashi?” Allura questioned, her laughter finally subsiding. He gave her a halfhearted wave and disappeared behind the curtain. Allura shook her head and rolled her eyes before turning back to Lance, “So is this how you're going to reel in Red?”

Lance smiled, thankful she asked. He went over the plan with her, and she helped iron out a few details. He was smiling broadly when he wheeled the bike back to his apartment. He parked it outside, hoping no one would see that it was hot wired – Pidge had instructed him through the phone when he had first taken it off the street.

Now all he had to do was wait.

  


****

  


Matt spent almost the entire two hours trying to convince Keith not to go. He sighed, already knowing by the set of Keith's jaw that there was no hope in forgoing confrontation. Keith was still pacing his apartment, leaving the sandwich Matt had made untouched.

“So what are you going to do when you see him?” Matt asked around a mouthful of bread.

Keith stopped abruptly, “I already told you. Shoot him between the eyes.”

“Keith,” Matt's tone was harsh, “I am not missing an MCAT class for your to literally run into Paladin park and declare war for the Galra.”

“You were asleep until I called you,” Keith rolled his eyes, finally sinking into the chair in front of his sandwich.

Matt pouted, “I still could have made it for the last hour.”

“If the class wasn't four hours long, that might’ve been acceptable,” Keith mumbled under his breath, relishing in the slight feeling of relaxation.

Both boys sat in silence as they brainstormed. Matt eventually started stating all of the necessary facts out loud. Keith had draped his legs over the arm of the chair he was nestled in, “So, you can't have any physical from of confrontation in Paladin Park. If any blood is drawn, war is immediately declared.

“And you know if you bring us into war, Haggar will at least take one of your kidneys or a piece of your liver.” Matt shivered as he thought about it. One hand automatically went to his stomach, tracing a faint line under his clothes.

“I know. That's why he chose the park,” Keith growled, running an irritated hand through his hair, “I should just drag him from the park by his hair and then shoot him in the face.”

Matt froze and slowly looked at Keith, “That's it.” He jumped to his feet, “Make him leave the park and you can do whatever you want!” Keith was shoving his feet into boots before Matt even finished his sentence, “But remember that he can do anything too. Blue isn't a joke, Keith.”

Keith shot Matt a smirk over his shoulder, “I'll be careful.”

Keith: _Blue has a chase and capture on Red. He also stole my bike. Meeting up in paladin park @ 3. Won't endanger G._  
Thace: _Vrepit Sa._

He watched as a small bubble appeared in the texting window, showing that Thace was still typing. Keith shoved his phone deep into his pocket, silencing it. He didn't want to hear any part of the lecture Thace was going to type at him. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he jumped on the subway and rode six stops to a station only three blocks away from Paladin Park.

It was an immense park, taking up a considerable amount of the city. It was lush with tall trees that created humid shade. There were fountains trickling every few yards. Many people walked their dogs or ate meals on the many park benches or picnic tables.

Blue hadn't specified where in the 8block long park they were to meet, but Keith spotted him immediately. He was wearing Altean blue on purpose. His skin was luminous in the afternoon sun as he sat on the rim of a fountain with his nose buried in his phone. And the second he spotted Keith, he wore a self-satisfied smirk.

Keith dug his hands in his pockets and sauntered up to Blue. He stood directly in front of him. His shadow spilled over the boy, and he casually tilted his head up to meet Keith's eyes. The boy sighed and put his phone in his jacket pocket.

“Explain yourself,” Keith ground out.

Blue's smile only grew, “Didn't you read my love note?”

Keith grabbed Blue's shoulder, digging bitten nails into the soft, cotton-covered flesh, “You're fucking with the wrong person, Blue. Now where's my bike?”

Blue swatted Keith's hand away, standing and forcing Keith to take a step back lest he push the boy into the fountain. He debated it, but he didn't want to draw more attention to them. He bit his lip, when he realized that Blue was taller than him. Just slightly enough that he had to tilt his head slightly to meet his eyes. Blue's smirk only deepened.

With a lazy finger, Blue drew tiny circles on Keith's chest. “I took it as payment for what you took from us.” Blue's finger was sharp as he poked Keith's chest harder, enunciating each word, “It. Is. Mine. Now.”

Blue pulled back, taking a step to the side and walking around Keith. Keith didn't want to follow, but he dug his nails into his palms and slowly strode behind the guy. Blue led them to the outskirts of the park, where the park started to merge with the city. They were still in neutral territory but without the wandering eye of bystanders.

“So what do you want?” Keith's fingers twitched to reach for his gun. He didn't want to compromise with Blue, but he was well aware of the chase and capture Altea had put on his head. If he could compromise without being forced to go into Altean territory, maybe this whole thing would blow over and he could start searching for Shiro again.

“What do I want?” Blue raised an eyebrow.

“For my bike. I want her back.”

If Keith thought that Blue couldn't smile any larger, he was wrong. The sides of his eyes crinkled and laugh lines, so normally worn, dug into his face. Blue let out a burst of laughter, “How about a date, and I'll consider giving _her_ back.”

Keith moved before he thought. The muzzle of the gun dug deep into Blue's stomach. Keith felt Blue's breath catch in his throat. He felt Blue's arm twitch under his unyielding grasp. He felt Blue's stomach clench tightly, attempting to shy away from the muzzle.

Twisting the gun deeper against the darker boy's stomach, Keith growled, “How about you bring me my bike, and I'll _consider_ not putting a bullet in your stomach.”

  


****

  


Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

Okay, yes. Lance had heard all of the tales about Galra's golden boy, Red. But he never expected him to be as intimidating as he was, gun digging with bruising force into his abdomen.

He knew that he pushed it too far, lulled into the faux safety of Paladin Park. He had smiled at Red. Smiled at the few inches of height he had on the boy. Smiled at the stiff set of the boy's mouth and the determined words spilling from his lips. Smiled at the boy calling his bike a “her.” Smiled at the thought that the boy had probably named it. He had smiled and gotten overconfident.

This was _so_ not going according to plan.

He was supposed to lead Red off of park property, out of the neutral zone where Hunk could jump him. Where they could take him down and drag him back to Legendary where Allura was waiting.

He was not supposed to be pinned under Red's gun.

His pocket knife and the syringe Pidge had given him were heavy in his pocket. He was well aware of how attuned Red was to the movement of his body. There was no way Lance could slip his hand into his pocket to retrieve either weapon without ending up with a bullet in his gut.

Droplets of sweat journeyed down the curves of his back muscles. He swallowed stiffly, “Red, buddy. We can work this out.” He placed a hand on the barrel of the gun. Red swatted at his hand with the gun and then jammed the muzzle into his abs again. Lance moaned as the wind rushed from his lungs. He leaned into Red for support.

“Where is my bike?” Red's voice was dangerous. It seemed to be the most dangerous part about him. Sure, he dressed like a hot topic employee, but Lance just assumed that was part of the Galra dress code or something.

When he had realized that him and Red were similar ages, he had let his guard down even more. He couldn't see that well in the poorly lit alley with Red standing over Harold.

He didn't think they could be this different.

“You don't want to break the treaty,” Lance warned, voice more strained than he would have liked it. He wanted to appear unphased by Red's thirst for blood. Red's eyes flicked up to meet Lance's. They were grey like a cloudy sky, steel smithed into daggers.

Lance was watching Red's face when he did something unexpected. Red laughed. It wasn't a carefree laugh that would have lifted the bags from his eyes or the tough set to his jar. It was sardonic and thick with unbridled rage. It deepened the scowl Red wore and made him tighten his grip on Lance's arm.

“I don't give two shits about the treaty.” The muzzle dug in deeper, and Lance bit back a moan. He cursed himself for only bringing his pocket knife for protection. He hadn't wanted to draw attention to him in the park. He thought it wouldn't go this far.

“Sure, Haggar will have my kidney for it, but at least I'm worth something.” Red snarled, bringing his lips close to Lance's ear, “I will leave you bleeding out on the pavement. I won't even try to harvest your worthless organs. Galra doesn't want trash like you.”

The barrel of the gun pushed him backward a step. A step away from the neutral zone. A step toward Altean territory.

“So you would rather kill me in Altean territory?” Lance quipped, adrenaline making him rash and angry. “You would start a war between us just for some goddamn bike?”

Red charged forward, making Lance stumble backward until his feet weren't landing among soft grass but rough pavement. Red forced him into the closest alleyway. Lance's back slammed against the brick wall of a towering building, and he let out a small moan of pain. Red's arm went from gripping Lance's bicep to pressing into his throat.

“It's not just some goddamn bike.” Red pressed harder against Lance's throat. With desperate hands, Lance scratched at Red's forearm pressing up against his windpipe. Red hissed when Lance's fingers slipped under his jacket and tore away at flesh. Crusted blood and skin cells burrowed under Lance's fingernails that dug into Red's flesh.

Lance knew that Hunk was too far away. Too many blocks away to hear him shout. He floundered for Red's hand on the gun. Suddenly pulling it to the side, Red didn't resist the motion. His body was off balance, pressing the boys chest to chest. Lance fumbled with Red's fingers. He made Red squeeze the trigger.

The sound was deafening in the alley.

Brick shrapnel flew in the air. Lance cursed as the side of his body burned. The bullet hadn't touched him, but the strong heat emitted hurt. Red stumbled back slightly, the kick of the gun forcing him to loosen his hold on Lance.

Lance could only pray that the shot alerted Hunk to his location.

Red slammed the side of the gun against Lance's face. His hold disappeared, letting Lance collapse to the alley. With a tentative hand, Lance touched his cheek. It was split open and bleeding. The pain was throbbing and forcing him to squint his eyes and scream for focus.

Red placed a heavy boot on Lance's arm before the boy could even think about stumbling to his feet. Without putting much weight on it, he leaned down as if to plead with Lance. “This isn't really my forte, Blue.” With the hand not on the gun, he picked up Lance's head by his hair, making sure the boy looked him in the face.

All Lance could feel was pain. A wash of pain in differing colors. The pain of his cheek, stabbing and bright. The slight pain of his hair, ripping and pulling. The stretching pain of his bruised abs with every breath, staggered and full. The dull ache of his arm, trapped under Red's boot, blue and pulsing.

“Tell me where my bike is before I break your arm.” Red growled, putting more weight on Lance's arm. He whimpered. And God, that was a hit to his pride more than anything else Red had done to him.

“40th and Arus street. Behind the parking garage.” Lance mumbled into the graveled alley.

He didn't miss Red's triumphant smile. “There. Was that so hard?” His tone was mocking and greedy. He released Lance's hair and removed his boot from his arm. Lance was slowly starting to regain clarity as the ache of his hair, arm, and stomach ebbed.

“Lance!” A familiar voice called: Hunk, rushing down the alley, gun raised and ready. Lance struggled to his feet, but a sharp hand pulled him up. He felt the gun against the small of his back and Red's warm hand on his throat.

He heard Red sigh sharply, “God, this is such a mess,” Red mumbled behind him. Voice louder, yelling at Hunk, “Let me go, and I won't kill your buddy.”

“You wouldn't.” Hunk cried out sharply. He took another step forward, and Lance hoped that Red ignored the slight tremble to Hunk's hands. “Not on Altea territory.”

Red sighed again, and Lance stiffened at the feel of warm breath on the back of his neck. “I've been regretting not killing his motherfucker since yesterday, so I honestly don't really care.” His voice had a lighter tone to it. If Lance had to put a word to it, it was playful. “Now,” Red's tone changed completely, “Let me go.”

He took a step back, dragging Lance with him. Lance licked his lips and tasted the blood that was still flowing freely from his cheek.

Hunk took a step forward, “I will shoot him!” Red called out, stopping Hunk's progress.

“Keith,” The voice was a whisper behind them. Red stiffened against Lance, hand tightening to a choke around Lance's neck. Suddenly Lance was falling to the ground with nothing to hold him up. Red turned sharply, gun falling to his side. Takashi stood on the sidewalk, looking into the alley.

He was broad shouldered and scarred. The most dominant scar ran around the entirety of his right bicep. It was large, puckered, and still not completely white. He had told Lance that he still had trouble with some smaller tasks like writing or eating. He had to completely relearn how with his left hand, but he always said he was thankful to the doctor that had saved him.

Red took a tentative step forward, “Shiro?” There was a fragility to his voice, a shake to his hands that Lance hadn't seen earlier. Not when at the end of the barrel of a gun. Not when Lance had threatened him.

All eyes were fixated on Takashi. He was heaving breaths as he took a step forward into the shadow of the alley.

Lance watched Red with wary eyes, but it seemed that Red had forgotten everything but Takashi. Carefully Lance slipped a hand into his pocket, pulling out the small syringe. Pulling off the protective cap with his teeth, he readied himself.

Before Red could take another step forward, Lance jabbed a needle into Red's calf. He plunged the liquid in before Red could jump away. Red's back slammed against the brick wall, feet tumbling out from beneath him. His hand dropped the gun and fumbled for the syringe, sloppily pulling it out and throwing it away with disgust.

“Shiro?” His voice was small and scared, “Shiro, why?” Red closed his eyes. The tranquilizer Pidge had made him take was finally activating. Lance had rolled his eyes when she had slid it across the bar to him. He assured her he wouldn't need it, but she gave him that look – the look that said “I will tell Allura all of your dirty secrets if you don't take this” – so he took it.

He had felt the weight burning in his pocket, but with Red's gun pressed so deeply against his stomach, he couldn't reach it without first being shot. And he hated being shot.

Hunk's broad hands helped Lance stand. He took a gentle look at the cut on Lance's cheek, “I think the bleeding as mostly stopped. Damn, he got you good man.” Lance pulled away, using the back of his jacket sleeve to wipe the blood off of his mouth.

“Don't remind me.”

The boys turned around to see Takashi kneeling in front of Red. There was a tenderness in his eyes and in the hand that brushed the bangs from the boy's forehead. A tenderness that they had only seen him use with Allura. He was stiff and scarred and authoritative. But Allura brought out all of his kindness and gentility.

It was the first time that Lance noticed how thin and worn Red was. He looked like he could have been in high school, scared and dragged into the mafia life without warning or hesitation.

Lance took a step forward, “Alright, now how to get him to Legendary?” He scratched the back of his head.

“Yeah, especially with how you look,” Hunk snorted, tucking his gun back into his waistband. Lance scoffed, ready to defend his honor with Takashi spoke.

“We'll take my car.” Takashi said, dragging Red up from the ground with one hand under his knees and the other behind his back. Takashi princess carried Red, the prodigal son of the enemy, to his black four door and drove them to Legendary without saying another word.

  


****

  


Keith's head pounded. His tongue was sandpaper, and his throat cried out in agony. His memory felt foggy on the edges. He remembered Blue jabbing him with some sort of needle – god, he prayed that it was at least a clean needle – and passing out in the alley.

He straightened, feeling the sharp tug of bounds on his wrists and ankles. He pulled his head up. His neck rang out in sharp pain, having been lulled to one side for too long. He blinked, wary of the room he was in.

It was small. Emotionless. A large window spanned the width of the room facing him. A small table sat in front of him with a single wooden chair. God, this was like some bad TV cop drama. He sighed and wanted to relax, but his bounds kept him stiff and alert.

He rolled his neck out, and everything returned with such clarity.

Shiro.

His throat constricted. He could still remember the exact moment he had heard Shiro say his name. There was the immediate recognition and almost immediate denial. He had forgotten all about Blue and Altea as he spun to see his best friend, brother, and role model. Shiro stood at the entrance to the alley, shoulders heaving with exhaustion. He looked healthy. The bags under his eyes vanished. The lifelessness Keith was so accustomed to seeing in the small movements of his hands and eyes had disappeared.

He had felt weightless. His feet drew him closer to Shiro. He wanted to run, run so desperately into Shiro's arms. It had been so long since he had felt safe. But Blue stabbed him with a tranquilizer and knocked him out.

Anger consumed any feelings of relief or happiness.

“SHIRO!” He screamed, head tipped back and throat bobbing, “GET OUT HERE YOU FUCKER!” His throat, already begging for water felt like it was tearing with each of his screams. He took deep breaths and yelled again. And again. And again. It felt like hours that he was yelling before the door knob finally turned.

He stiffened as a young woman walked in. Her hair was neatly tied in a bun, and her dark skin seemed to glow under the florescent lights. She was the very picture of poise. She strode in with purpose, dropping a bag onto the table.

Motion in the window behind her caught Keith's attention. Several other people, including Blue stood in the room adjacent, looking through the large window. Giving them little thought, he turned a sneer on Altea's boss, Allura.

“Where’s Shiro?” He growled, pulling sharply against the bounds for his wrist. They dug into his skin, rubbing raw patterns on his wrists.

She clasped her hands in front of her, the picture of calm, “We don't know who this 'Shiro' person is, but are they the reason you've been frequenting our territory so often, Red?”

Keith rolled his eyes, ignoring her question. His voice was steel, rumbling out of his chest, “Takashi Shirogane. I know you fuckers have him.”

He watched her reaction closely, and if he hadn't he would have missed the small, sharp spark of recognition that ignited in her eyes. She quickly dampened it, but the members behind the mirror stiffened too noticeably.

“Red, I assure you – ”

“Don't fuck with me, bitch.” Keith growled and yanked against the ropes. The harsh bounds dug into his flesh, and he felt a trickle of blood run between his fingers, “What the _fuck_ did you do to him?!”

Allura didn't flinch, but he watched the anger slowly color her. “I assure you that we never did anything to him. We aren't like you filthy – ”

“Shiro would never leave us for you!” Keith shouted, struggling against his bounds. The pain shooting up his arms only served to ignite his rage, “He would never leave Galra for the likes of you.”

Allura stood abruptly. The chair she had been sitting in slammed against the ground. She whipped around to face the window. Slashing her arm to the side, “Leave now! Bring me Takashi!” Her voice was a growl, booming in the small room that she occupied with Keith.

They all filed out, and Keith felt a lasting glare from Blue before the other door was shut. Allura was just righting the chair when the doorknob turned again. Shiro strode in, and Keith felt his chin tremble and throat constrict.

Allura held out the chair for him, motioning for him to sit. He took one look at Keith before he ignored her offer. His hands, gentle as always, went to Keith's that were coloring the rope with his blood. “Keith, what the fuck have you done to yourself?”

Shiro snapped out his pocket knife, a birthday present from Thace, and sliced through he bounds. He shot Allura a look before grabbed Keith by the arm, “Please don't do anything rash. For Allura's safety, I'm going to leave your feet bound, okay?”

Keith didn't say anything, just slowly shook out his hands, bringing feeling back into them. Shiro gently took Keith's wrists in his hands and looked at the bleeding abrasions. Keith slowly pulled out from his touch.

Shiro stood and took the seat Allura had originally offered.

The silence was deafening. No one spoke for a minute.

Allura and Shiro both jumped with Keith was the first to speak, “Is this where you've been this past year?” His voice was a whisper, barely above the hum of the air conditioning.

“Yeah,” Shiro's voice was small, a mumbled that tumbled from his mouth. With frantic eyes, he turned to Allura, “Baby, I can explain if – ”

“Another time, Takashi.” Allura's voice was steel. Shiro flinched and looked down at his hands. Even after living with him for half of his life, Keith couldn't decipher the emotions running circuits on Shiro's features.

“Now Red – or would you prefer if I call you Keith?” Allura asked. Keith glared at her, not answering. “Okay, then Red. Why were you wandering in my territory?”

Keith huffed and began picking off flakes of dried blood from his wrist, “Isn't it obvious? I was looking for Shiro, and I guess I wasn't too far off, huh?”

“Why did you harvest Harold's organs?”

Keith raised an eyebrow, “Harold?”

Allura's grip tightened on the back of Shiro's chair. She was still standing, and Keith didn't want to admit how intimidating Allura was in person. The only things he knew about Allura he had learned from Lotor. Zarkon didn't participate in Galra much after Alfor died last year.

“Yes, the drug dealer whose organs you harvested on Altean territory.”

The corner's of Keith's mouth twitched as if he was fighting a smile. He crossed his arms and turned away. Allura stiffened beside Shiro, and Shiro bit his lip. He knew. He knew that they were both too stubborn for each other. He knew that they would fight. That they came from too different but too similar worlds.

“Why did you harvest Harold's organs?” Allura asked again. Shiro closed his eyes. Keith's gaze didn't even stray from the wall to his left.

Allura slammed her hands down on the table. Keith didn't even jump. “Red. Answer me.” Keith slowly turned his gaze back to Allura. Shiro noticed the small smirk, pulling on the corner of Keith's lips. He noticed the relaxed set of his brows and flickering of his long lashes.

Shiro knew that Keith was ready to be trouble.

“Allura,” Keith's voice was soft. It made Allura straighten. In that moment, he looked like the young boy he was. Barely 22 and not covered in blood and proficient in harvesting organs, “I only wish to speak to Blue. Also, I don't want to see Shiro until he has a good ass explanation and is prepared to grovel at my feet.”

Shiro shook his head and grabbed a hold of Allura's wrist. She jumped back from his hold as if he had burned her. She pushed the table to the side slightly as she walked up to Keith. With a hand full of decorated rings, designed to hurt, she backhanded him across the face.

Keith's lip split and pain rang through his head. He spit a mouthful of blood next to her shoes. His vision was spinning. He couldn't straighten his lulled head, but he smiled up at her. He wouldn't speak a word. She hit him again, this time with the other hand. His head snapped to the other side.

His face sang with pain, riding along his cheekbones and settling in the base of his neck. His eyes fluttered. The room swam and Keith clenched his teeth harder because he knew what was coming.

Another slap.

And then suddenly there was a hand yanking his head up by his hair. He tried to elongate his spine to alleviate some of the pain, but she just pulled harder. Keith smiled a bloody smile. His split lip dribbled down his chin, splattering blood on the table.

His eyes flickered to Shiro who was watching Allura with barely muted horror.

He guessed Shiro hadn't told Allura about the integration training they all underwent. From her reaction earlier, he doubted she even knew he was once a member of Galra. That thought made him smile even broader.

The integration training was a Galra right of passage. It could be taken at any time and retaken at anytime. It determined how trustworthy you were in the gang, determined your position. Shiro had taken it a year after he took in Keith. He could still remember the way that Shiro tumbled into the apartment. He remembered the way that Haggar had sewn the more dangerous cuts closed, with almost loose looping stitches.

Keith had first auditioned when he was fourteen and trying to prove himself in the Galra ranks. He had been cocky and overconfident. He had cried for mercy fifteen minutes in. When he stumbled home, he looked at Shiro with new respect. His eyes traveled over Shiro's scars with a new reverence.

He had taken it two more times the same year. Then again when he was sixteen. And again when he was seventeen. His last trial, the one when he finally succeeded, he had taken when he was eighteen.

So this playful slapping was nothing compared to what Sendeck did. He had taken two years off after his third audition. He never realized how much he missed fingernails until they grew back 6 months later. He might not have auditioned again if Sam hadn't died when he was 16. He wouldn't let something like that happen to his family again. But Shiro had still disappeared 7 years after Keith's first trial despite all of his efforts.

Allura dug her nails into Keith's jaw, forcing him to look at her, “I will send in Blue, but if you don't answer him, I swear to God you're going to regret it.”

Allura stormed from the room. Shiro took one final look at Keith. Keith spit out another mouth full of blood, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“Just leave Shiro. I don't know what to say to you,” Keith admitted in a voice much smaller than the bravado he had just put on for Allura. Shiro nodded slowly and left Keith in the room. He sighed, leaning back and closing his eyes. He waited for the room to stop swaying before he untied to rope at his ankles.

  


****

  


Allura stormed through the curtain and into the bar. Lance looked at her over the rim of his tequila sunrise. He had opted for alcohol over pain medication after Hunk had patched up the cut on his face.

She was furious as she slammed her palms on the bar. Thankfully there weren't any customers at 4 o'clock on a Saturday. Pidge quickly poured her a drink and passed it down the bar. She gulped the entire thing down, not even enjoying the flavor. Her eyes were flames as she turned to face Takashi, who was still hovering several feet behind her.

“I think you owe us all an explanation, Takashi.” Allura's voice was grit, and Lance looked at Takashi. He had never seen the man look sheepish, but he did now. But anyone would look sheepish after what Red said in the integration room.

The room was typically used for those who didn't pay their debts back in time or started claiming they couldn't sell Altea's product. It was business related. But seeing Red in there was a little jarring. They boy looked absolutely unimpressed with the whole thing, and Lance felt himself admiring the boy's bravado.

“I know that I should have told you sooner that I was once a part of Galra, but – ”

“No, what you should have done is never spoken to me!” Allura screamed, rising to her feet. “You should have never made me fall in love with you! You should have left me alone!”

“Allura, you have to let me finish,” Takashi pleaded.

Allura fuming only settled back into the seat because Lance gently pulled her, “I don't have to let you do anything. But in respect of these last five years, I will let you continue to lie to us.”

Takashi didn't even try to mask the hurt that splayed across his features. “I guess I'll start in the beginning then.” He sighed as if he was psyching himself up for what he was about to say.

“I was indoctrinated into the Galra when I was – ” He coughed, and his eyes found Pidge's. He spoke the rest of the words directly to Pidge, “When I was a sophomore in high school. My best friend needed new a new liver, but we all knew that he would die waiting on the organ donor list. So him, his father, and I joined Galra. They promised to give him a liver that matched as soon as they found one, and that would could all work off our debt – ”

Everyone's eyes darted to Pidge when the sound of shattering glass interrupted Takashi. Pidge’s shaking hands were fumbling in the towel, feet stumbling back. Takashi's eyes were wide and pleading for Pidge to understand.

“Matt and my dad?” Pidge's voice trembled, “And you? All of you were in Galra?”

“Matt is still a member, Katie.”

“So my dad,” Pidge prompted, the color draining from her face.

Takashi nodded, “It wasn't just a random mugging. It was Altea.”

Pidge took a step back, toward the exit toward fresh air, “I'm going to be sick.” Pidge clamped a hand over her mouth and ran out the exit door. They heard the sound of her vomiting in the back alley before the door clicked shut.

Hunk grabbed a bottle of water from behind the bar before running outside.

They were all quiet for a moment. Unsure if they should prompt Takashi to continue. Allura shifted in her seat. Her anger was slightly subdued, thinking of Pidge and her family and the causalities their rivalry had cost.

Her eyes finally met Takashi's, and she nodded for him to continue. He looked to the ceiling as if that would give him strength. Lance stiffened, afraid to hear the outcome if the story only became more difficult to tell.

“So four years after I joined, Keith joined. And I could see the way that the others wanted to groom him into the perfect prodigy. It was disgusting how they treated him, even as a 12 year old kid.” Lance stiffened at that. Sure, he had joined Altea when he was 15, but he was on the younger side. Typically kids found their ways into the gangs by misfortune or misfortunate circumstances, “So I took him in.”

Takashi swallowed and slumped down in a chair. He pushed his head into his hands. His inhalations were deep as if he was trying to calm himself, “God, the things they had him do. I can't even explain it. And the worst part was that I watched him develop into the prodigy they wanted him to be. I watched him feed off their praises and affections and the twisted kind of love they gave. I just watched and watched and watched and there was nothing I could do.”

Tears dotted the table. Takashi didn't look up from where he was bracing his head on the table. Allura was stiffening next to Lance. Lance thread his fingers through hers, hoping that she would relax. She only seemed to stiffen more.

“So about five years ago, I finally asked Keith if he would kill for me.” Takashi's voice wavered, “I don't know what I was expecting. But I wasn't expecting him to answer yes with no hesitation or even a slight bit of wariness in his eyes. And I don't know. It was as if I was faced with everything I had failed to do for him. So – so I left and started walking through Paladin Park, trying to feel like someone normal.”

Takashi finally looked up and met Allura's eyes. Lance didn't know when she began crying, but she was using her free hand to wipe away the tears that tracked down her face. She bit her lip. Her chin trembled.

“And that was when I met you, Allura. You were sitting in the park singing while Lance played the guitar. And god, you were so radiant. I wanted to talk to you more and more. I don't know when I fell in love with you, but I know that everything started that day. And the more I learned about you, the less I wanted to be part of Galra.” Takashi's voice trembled, “So when you finally told me you were the leader of Altea and you invited me to join, I knew I had to leave Galra.”

“But no one leaves,” Lance whispered. It was the thought everyone had. Coran was sitting completely still, unusual for a man as fidgety as he was. Allura didn't let her gaze stray from Shiro. And Lance tried not to hear the sounds of vomit and sobs echoing from the alleyway.

Takashi smiled, the sort of smile that wilted, “I asked Lotor to let me leave. And he did under several conditions. So I left Keith without saying anything.” Lance flinched when Takashi used Red's given name. It seemed so personal, “Because I knew that he would kill anyone who tried to stop me from leaving. Or that he would've tried to leave with me, but Galra is the only kind of family he's ever had. I couldn't take that away from him. They may be twisted people, but they truly care for him and that was more than he could ask for before he joined Galra. And I couldn't take that all away because of my own selfishness.”

Takashi was huffing, hands buried in his hair, tugging at the roots. His eyes were bloodshot, pleading with Allura to understand. Pleading for forgiveness from her. From Red who still sat tied up in the integration room. From everyone.

He exhaled slowly and his hands fell from his hair. He held out his forearm, showing the delicate piece of artwork that covered all of his pale skin.

“I got a cover up tattoo in a city halfway across the country, because no one would willingly cover up a known gang tattoo here. And I joined Altea,” His eyes flicked to Allura, “For you. Because you are the only thing that made my life joyful again.”

Allura burst from her seat and ran into Takashi's arms. They were both sobbing, clutching each other and sharing kisses and hushed words. Lance turned around, feeling like he was invading. When they didn't stop, he rose to leave. But when the bell chimed on the door, Allura paused and called out to him.

“Lance,” Lance stopped in the doorway, looking over his shoulder, “Red says that he'll only speak to you. So, please?”

Lance nodded. He let the door shut and strode to the elevator. God, how was he supposed to integrate Red when he just learned all of that?

He took one step into the integration room and saw the smirk on Red's face as the chair collided with his nose.

Never mind. This was going to be easy, he wouldn't have to integrate him at all. He was just going to fucking kill him.

  


****

  


Keith couldn't believe how trusting Altea was. He was posed and ready for the doorknob to open. He also was watching the opposite room through the window, ready to relax and pretend that he wasn't trying to escape.

He was hopeful that Allura was allowing Blue to integrate him, praying that this chair to his face would be a nice goodbye present for him. The look on Blue's face milliseconds before the chair collided with his beautiful chin was glorious.

Blue fell to the ground, crying out as he clutched at his nose.

Keith leapt over his prone form before beginning to sprint down the hallway.

All of Keith's muscles convulsed. Pain ricocheted through every joint in his body. His scream was bit off as his knees slammed into the ground. His body refused to stand. The pain had stopped, but his fingers still twitched, and his body refused to listen to him.

He tried to run, to flee when he heard calculated footsteps stop next to his face. Blue reached down and pulled at Keith's hair, lifting his head off the ground. Keith's eyes drifted to the dark navy that were Blue's irises. He briefly wondered if that was why he was dubbed “Blue.”

The scene was so reminiscent of the scene in the alley, Keith wished he could scowl. Blue's grin spread, blood from his bruised nose dribbling past his lips, “Did you think I wouldn't come prepared, Red?” He tsked, and tased Keith again when he began to stumble to his feet, “It's funny how you keep underestimating me.”

Blue placed a heavy shoe on Keith's back, keeping his weakened muscles pinned to the ground. Keith heard the sound of a phone ringing. His mind was hazy, and it felt like the room was spinning. He was trying to get his bearings, but Allura's fists hadn’t left him well off either.

“Hunk, buddy?” Blue pressed harder on Keith's back. He was already struggling to breathe with muscles that were only beginning to cooperate, “Can you come help me with Red? He had a little escape attempt.”

Keith could hear muffled yelling as Blue cursed. The yelling became louder and more pronounced as Blue pulled the phone away from his ear, “I didn't come unprepared,” Blue sighed, “He currently has taser barbs stuck in his back.”

He pressed into Keith's back with his toe, lightening the pressure and making him wheeze for more air, “I only shocked him twice. Yeah, he's still conscious. Well Hunk, if you had let me speak, you would know I was calling to ask you to help me move him.” Lance pushed at Keith's ribs, trying to roll him over, “He's heavy.”

And that was how the large burly man from the alleyway ended up picking up Keith and plopping him in a chair. His limbs were still flopping and useless even as he tried to gain control. His mind was still reeling as Blue held up a pair of handcuffs to Hunk.

“Kinky,” Keith managed to slur.

Blue raised a single eyebrow and smirked as the handcuffs fixated Keith to the chair. Hunk gave Blue a long look before Blue waved a single hand to dismiss him from the room. Blue hadn't bothered to take out the taser barbs from Keith's back. And as Keith's senses were slowly coming back online, the barbs sharp flashing pain was searing through his mind.

Blue turned around the chair on the other side of the table and sat down with a plop. He draped his hands over the back and fiddled with the taser in his hands. Keith's head lulled as his looked at Blue.

“So should I feel honored that you only wanted to talk to me?” Blue pushed a hand through his hair, and Keith finally got a good look at the boy. He wanted to blame his dazed senses for how attractive he found him. He wanted to blame the taser for his increased heart rate.

Blue had a sharp jaw and soft cheek bones. His mouth was always playing at a lazy smile which showed with the deep creases of laugh lines on his cheeks. Short brown hair curled around his ears, and Keith jangled the handcuffs against the metal of the chair as he ached to push the hair behind Blue's ear. His eyes were an alarming shade of blue, searching and fanned by dark, sooty lashes. With shaped eyebrows, he questioned Keith without words.

“Or,” Blue prompted, “Was that a ploy so you could hit me in the face with a chair?” He thumbed at the small flakes of dried blood under his nose.

Keith smiled a tumbling smile, “You wish, pretty boy.”

“Pretty boy?” Blue smirked.

“Well,” Keith's was finally able to take a deep breath, the effects of the taser finally finishing their course through his body. He fought the blush from his cheeks and changed the subject, “Blue is such a cliché name.”

“As if Red isn't?” Blue scoffed under his breath, not commenting on the severe change of subject.

Keith ached to lean back in the chair and act as casual as his tone implied, “But I was named four years earlier than you, so who's the real trendsetter here?”

Blue seemed to stiffen and a strange look of pain or empathy shot through his blue eyes. His eyes searched Keith's face as if looking for the answer to a question he sought.

“Were you named after your eyes?” Keith hummed leaning forward, pulling on the handcuffs. His smile was flirty, tilted to one side more. Internally, Keith was screaming. Why? Why had he said something like that? Sure Blue was attractive, but he was Altean.

Altean.

Blue stiffened at his inquiry before leaning his chin on his crossed arms, “Were you named after your cheeks, because damn, they are on fire right now, bad boy.”

“Shut up,” Keith growled and looked away, leaning back on his chair. He hissed the second one of the taser barbs hit the chair. He sat up harshly, and Blue looked down at the taser in his hands.

“Alright,” Keith hadn't realized the difference in Blue's tone until then. Just moments earlier, it had been more playful, lighter, and almost flirty. But now, it was sharp and cutting and all business, “Time to get to work. I know that Allura wanted to ask you some specific questions, and between the two of us,” Blue waved a hand between them, “I'm not really good at torture. Pidge said it was something about being too empathetic or some bullshit.

“So I would rather not have to tase the shit out of you before you answer me.” Blue waved the taser in his hand, “So can we cut to the chase?” Keith raised a single eyebrow as if issuing Blue to continue. “Why did you harvest Harold's organs?”

Blue's tone was flippant as if he didn't believe that Keith would answer.

“I already told you that one, Blue.” Keith watched as Blue's fingers relaxed around the taser's trigger, “He was overdosing right in front of me and begging to die.”

“How do you know he was ODing?” Blue's tone was curt and disbelieving.

Keith raised a single eyebrow. He expected that Shiro had told them practically everything when Allura had dragged them away. Due to the fact that he hadn't heard gunshots or anything to suggest that Altea killed him immediately, he was pretty sure that Allura had forgiven him. And the path to Shiro's past started with Matt and ended with Keith.

“Shiro didn't say anything about that? I'm honestly surprised.” Keith barked out a small, self-deprecating laugh. It died the minute it left his tongue. “I've been around enough crackheads to know when it's serious,” Keith grumbled, not meeting Blue's perplexed gaze.

“So why did you harvest his organs?” Blue asked again as if Keith's explanation hadn't really answered the question.

Keith sighed, “He was an organ donor. I checked his wallet. But there's no way any self respecting hospital would transplant a drug addicts organs into another human being.” Keith remembered the way the wallet had felt heavy in his hands. He remembered the way that the man's lips were thinned and cracked and covered in small bubbles of spittle. He remembered running to the nearest convenience store for a bag of ice and small cooler.

He kept the scalpel set in his bike; it was a minor suggestion from Haggar, saying that they should always be ready to harvest. And by suggestion, he meant it was strongly encouraged. When they looked to Zarkon and Lotor for confirmation, they merely shrugged. Haggar was the real force behind the operation, so they could at least appease her.

When Keith had returned with ice dripping condensation and cooler handle squeaking, the man's eyes were glossy and his hands seized. Keith looked into his eyes and pushed sweaty hairs off of his forehead. He shushed him, “It's going to be okay,” He whispered and painlessly slit the man's neck, killing him almost instantly.

It was only minutes later after he had used a collapsable pair of bolt cutters to snap the old man's ribs, did Blue walk into the alley. He had heard Blue’s footsteps and humming stop abruptly. Keith knew that he had been seen. He didn't falter as he placed the heart onto the ice, the warmth slowly leaving the organ as small trickles of blood leaked from the sliced veins.

“So,” Keith drew himself from his memory, focusing on the way Blue's face had purposefully closed off, “I decided that he would appreciate being able to help people in anyway that he could. Most of the organs go to good people who would never make it on the list. Either too sick, too old, or the frequency of receiving an organ is low.” Keith shrugged.

There was a heavy moment of silence between them.

“Any more questions?” Keith smirked.

  


****

  


Lance didn't know what he was doing. He had been with Altea since he was sixteen, but he had never interrogated anyone before. The first time he watched from the adjacent room Allura's was interrogating a dealer who couldn't pay back his debt, and Lance had to leave three times to throw up.

And here was Red – Keith sitting with his arms handcuffed to the chair and taser barbs sticking out of his back, flirting with him. Split lips curling and smirking and spitting out words in a husky voice that caused shivers to course up Lance's spine. Lance didn't want to think about it, so he had started the interrogation. He wanted to come off as flippant and calculating, but he had never expected Keith to actually answer his questions.

From the bruises around his eyes and his split lip, he knew that Allura had given him hell. But Keith hadn't answered. And yet, Lance hadn't even needed to tase him once to get him to answer.

Keith's gaze was far too open, far too ready to answer questions.

“Any more questions?” Keith smirked, pulling his full lips up in a way that was devilishly handsome. More devilish than handsome, but Lance had always had a thing for bad boys.

“So you were wandering around our territory looking for Takashi, when you saw a man ODing and decided to be a _good samaritan_ and harvest his organs?” Lance sounded skeptical, because what the hell kind of story was that? He didn't want to believe something like that.

He couldn't believe that this Galran was trying to be helpful. He couldn't believe that the Galra were anything more than sadistic freaks who harvested organs in the dead of the night.

Keith shrugged, “Yea.”

Lance's finger twitched to pull the trigger, and Keith's eyes flashed to the taser. His face hardened, “Blue, don't tase me again. If you do, I won't say anything no matter how much you torture me. I'm answering your questions, pretty boy, so just ask me another.”

“What's your favorite color?” Lance blurted out.

Keith's face drew back in surprise before he laughed out loud, “Red. Surprised?”

“Not in the least.” And then they were both smiling weak smiles. Tentative and fragile. Lance's phone beeped, and he pulled it from his pocket.

Princess: _Any progress with Red?_  
Blue: _Surprisingly, yea._

Lance glanced up at Keith who's face twisted with mischief, “Tell Allura that Shiro is deathly ticklish on his feet.” Lance raised a single eyebrow, because why the fuck would he want to tell his boss that, “Just do it, Blue!” Keith snapped.

“Why?”

“Because Shiro's an asshole and deserves to suffer,” Keith's voice wavered at the end, but he tried to play it off with a small laugh. But there was a distinct lack of humor in his eyes. Lance shrugged and typed the message to Allura.

Blue: _uuuuuuh, Red wanted you to know that Takashi is extremely ticklish on his feet. I'm not sure why though. . . . ._  
Princess: _Tell Red that no amount of blackmail or brown nosing will get him off my shit list._

Lance repeated the message and watched in reverence as Keith tossed his head back in a laugh. His shoulders shook and his adam's apple bobbed. His smile was so wide as he finally glanced back to Lance. A small tear gathered in the corner of his eye. Keith pulled on his handcuffs instinctively ready to brush it away.

Without though, Lance leaned his chair forward and brushed off the small tear from Keith's cheek. Keith's skin was hot. His eyes followed Lance as he straightened himself.

“So, why did you join Altea?” Keith asked quietly.

“Hey, I thought I was asking the questions here, Keith?”

Keith shrugged, the handcuffs clinking, “Well, you're not asking any questions and I know Shiro told you all about me, so – ” He paused biting his lip. Lance tilted his head.

“So?” Lance prompted.

“I'm curious about you.” Keith was blunt.

Lance blushed, fumbling for words, “Why?”

“You think I wouldn't be curious about Altea's sharpshooter?”

“You think I wouldn't be curious about Galra's samurai?”

Keith coughed, “What? People – people don't call me that.” His tone was harsh, but Lance could sense no anger behind it.

“Alright, you caught me.” He held up his hands, smiling, “No one calls you that, golden boy.” Their eyes met for a minute, just watching to see what the other would do or say, “So, how about you tell me why you joined Galra, and I'll think about telling you why I joined Altea.”

Keith sighed, lulling his head to the side, “The Galra realized that my foster family wasn't the most,” He seemed to fumble for the word, “Familial. Thankfully I only had to be with them for a year before Galra suggested that I joined them instead, suggested that I join their family. And as a twelve year old kid, it sounded pretty damn good.”

Lance swallowed. What kind of hell was Keith's life? “Do you love them? Your new family?”

“I love Matt and Shiro. They're like a brothers to me, but the others,” Keith chewed on his bottom lip before answering, “I care for them, but now that I'm older I can see how twisted they are.” He shrugged his shoulders. “That was two questions, Blue. So you owe me.”

“Did you forget that you're the one attached to a taser right now?” Lance waved the taser in his hand. Keith's expression didn't waver. Lance sighed, placing his chin on the back of the chair, “Fine. Fine. I joined Altea when I was sixteen. My family needed the extra money, so I did what I had to do.”

Keith furrowed his brow, “And they supported your decision to join one of the most dangerous gangs in the city?”

“No, they thought I got a job at Legendary,” Lance laughed before terror constricted his throat.

“Oh, is that where we are now?” Lance watched the small twitch of a victorious smile on Keith’s face before he looked around the room as if it held new secrets.

_Shit._

  


****

  


Keith couldn't hide his victorious smile from Blue. He really hadn't meant to draw such valuable information from him. He only wanted to talk with the curious stranger who had stolen his bike.

“It's supposed to rain tonight, you better not leave my bike outside, Blue.” Keith commanded, looking directly into Blue's eyes. There was a terrified glint which made Keith swallow the smile harder. He was most definitely not supposed to say that this was the bar Legendary on the other side of the city. Sure, Galra had their guesses as to where Altea's main headquarters were, but never solid proof.

Blue cleared his throat about to speak when his phone went off. He glanced at it and then back up at Keith, “Another question, Red.” Keith flinched at the way Blue bit off his codename. “Where is Galra headquarters?”

“Blue,” Keith raised an eyebrow, “You very well know I can't answer that question. Ask another please.”

“What will it take for Galra to leave the city?”

Keith laughed sardonically at that question, “What will it take for Altea to leave?” Blue scowled at the thought, “Yeah, that's your answer.”

Blue scrolled down his phone, and Keith realized that Allura must have sent him a list of questions. He sighed and tried to prep his mind for the torture soon to start. There were some questions that he just couldn't answer.

“Where is Matt Holt?”

Keith stiffened, “Why the hell do you want to know?

“Where is Matt Holt?”

“You want to murder him like you did his father? Is that what this is all about?” Keith was screaming, standing on his feet and pushing against the table. They had never secured his feet, but the chair was heavy and made him unstable. Blue stood and forcefully pushed Keith's face against the table.

His bruised cheek screamed out as he let out a pathetic whimper.

“Where is Matt Holt?” Blue's voice was steel, sharpened and dangerous.

“Tell me why you want to know.”

Blue's breath was hot on his ear, “His sister is part of Altea, and she needs to see him.”

“Katie?” Keith breathed, relaxing against the table. Blue's hand on his head pulled back, and Keith settled back into the chair, “Why can't Shiro say anything?” Blue stiffened, fingers tightening on the phone, “Oh, she refuses to speak to him?” Keith laughed again, “That sounds just like her.”

Blue furrowed his brow, “You know her?”

Keith rolled his eyes, “Bring her to me, and I'll tell her anything she wants to know about her family.”

  


****

  


Lance let the room in a daze. The taser sat on the chair he had vacated, barbs still sunk into Keith's back. He went up the elevator and saw Pidge sitting on a barstool rather than behind the bar. They ended up closing the bar for the night. Keith's arrival and Takashi's confession had left all of Altea shaken.

She swirled a thick glass full with dark amber liquid and clinking ice cubes. Her head rested on her hands as Hunk chattered away at nonsense behind the bar.

“Should you really be drinking that with your upset stomach?” Lance quipped, sliding into a seat besides her.

Her eyes were bloodshot, a stark contrast to the pallor of her face. Eyes still locked on Lance, she brought the drink up to her mouth and threw the rest down her throat. Slamming the glass back down on the table, she spoke, “Get any information out of him?”

“Surprisingly, he was pretty compliant,” Lance shrugged and thanked Hunk for the tequila sunrise he had passed him over the bar, “But he said that he will only talk to you about Matt. He doesn't believe you're part of Altea.”

Pidge rose to her feet quickly, accidentally bumping into Lance's arm. Some of the drink spilled onto his lap as he called out for Pidge. He gulped down a couple sips before bounding after her. She tapped her foot impatiently while the elevator doors slowly slid open.

She slammed her finger against the closed door button, but Lance slipped through the doors before they could close. He looked down at her. She crossed her arms, purposefully not making eye contact.

“Pidge,” Lance began.

“I don't know if I want to speak to you,” Pidge ground out. Her throat was raw, making her voice fragile and weak.

Lance stiffened, hearing the elevator ding and watching the doors slide open. He began following her down the short hallway, “I didn't know anything about your dad.”

“But you do know things about killing Galra, don't you?” She whipped around, eyes threatening to spill over new tears.

“Of course I heard about the fight,” Lance placed his hands placatingly in front of him, “It was the last big fight between Altea and Galra. But I wasn't part of it Pidge. I was part of Altea for two weeks when that happened.”

She turned her back on him, “Just let me talk to Keith alone.”

“Are you upset with me or with Altea or with yourself?” Lance ground out, hating the tone to his voice. He hated when he got defensive like this, but he couldn't stop himself when he saw the self-pity rimming Pidge's eyes and setting the stiffness in her shoulders, “Or are you just upset that you ended up joining the gang that killed your father?”

“Fuck yes, I'm upset at myself, Lance!” Pidge snapped. She whirled to face him. The tears cascaded down her cheeks, running recently carved paths, “I joined Altea so that I could have better access to police files. The Garrison Police station wouldn't give me any information, and after two weeks they eventually dropped the case saying it was a freak coincidence. But I knew – I fucking knew that it wasn't just a random mugging. And here I am, loyal to the gang and to the people who killed my fucking father.” She was sobbing now. Her pointer finger dug into her chest as she continued, “I was fourteen years old when he died. Fourteen Lance, you can't even imagine what – ”

She cut herself off, shaking her head. Biting her lip, she pulled open the door to Keith's interrogation room.

“Katie,” Keith's voice was thick with elation until he saw the tears in her eyes. His gaze darted to Lance. He jumped to his feet, the handcuffs pulling painfully on his wrists, “What the fuck did you do to her, Blue?”

Lance jumped back, a protective hand grabbing at Pidge's shoulder. But she slipped out of his grasp and buried her face in Keith's chest. Small fists pounded on his pecs, and Keith stopped surging forward. The handcuffs jangled as he tried to pull his hand away. One casually slipped out, and he wrapped both arms around Pidge.

Alarmed, Lance took several steps forward, only to see that Keith's thumb was dislocated. The appendage was bent at a weird angle and behind Pidge's back, Keith cringed and shoved it back into place.

Her fists stopped, fingers clawing into the material of Keith’s t-shirt. Her legs seemed to weaken underneath her as Keith's grip became more steadfast. Lance could hear the quiet shushing and small words Keith whispered into Pidge's ear.

It took several minutes, but she calmed down, taking a step back before slapping Keith across the face, “That's for never telling me you were a part of Galra.”

Keith cracked his jaw using his fingers as a guide, “I hope you hit Matt harder than that.” Keith giggled, and Lance watched Pidge smile for the first time since Keith had arrived.

“Oh, you won't have to worry.” Her smile faltered as her mind drifted elsewhere. Lance leaned against the threshold to the door, watching them. “So, my dad,” Pidge began, but stopped shortly after at a loss for words.

Keith nodded slowly, running a hand through his hair.

“I honestly still can't believe that Sam's gone.” Pidge nodded, eyes not meeting Keith's. Lance stiffened in the doorway. He really didn't want to be here for this kind of talk, but Allura would kill him if he left Pidge and Keith alone. Keith was Galra's prodigy and of course Pidge was one of Altea's but they were in very different subjects.

Pidge was more than able to handle herself in a fight, but Keith was well – he wasn't called the golden boy for no reason.

“Do you know anything about it?” Pidge's voice was low in volume, but the tone she had been using changed dramatically. It was cold, calculating, and methodical.

“All I really know is that Thace lost his partner Ulaz in the fight. If you want, I can text him for more details of what happened.” Keith shrugged.

“Yes, please.” Pidge practically hummed with energy. Keith nodded and fished around in his pocket. Lance cursed at himself, thinking about how dumb it had been to leave Keith with his phone. But he hadn't tried to escape those handcuffs until now.

Pidge suddenly stiffened, turning back to look at Lance. She scratched the back of her calf with the other foot, “Is there a way that Keith and I can talk in private? I haven't seen him since graduation.”

“The day before graduation, Katie. Get it right,” Keith joked, not looking up from the text message he was composing.

“Oh yeah, I remember. They didn't let you walk at graduation.”

“I didn't think the black eye was enough to warrant that. I remember how pissed Shiro was though.” Keith laughed at that thought, but the laugh caught in his throat. Lance quirked an eyebrow, enjoying observing the dynamic between these two. They were unlikely friends.

“I still think you should have strode on stage after every name was called,” Pidge daydreamed, flicking a piece of hair behind her ear.

Keith laughed at that, “I may have been planning to do just that when I accidentally mentioned it in front of Shiro. And yeah, that didn't go well. He and Matt locked me in my closet during graduation. I couldn't even try to break out, because they were playing Mario Kart just outside the closet door.” Keith rolled his eyes, tucking the phone back in his pocket.

“But you didn't actually do anything?” Lance smiled. It took him a breath to realize that he wasn't actually supposed to be answering any of these things. Pidge had already asked him to leave, and they were reminiscing.

“I only said that about a thousand times,” Keith laughed, and Lance felt his chest tighten. How could he look so gorgeous with his head tossed back in reckless abandon. It made him want to know all of the expressions that Keith could make, “But they kept on claiming that it was the 'intention to commit' that was issue.”

Keith's eyes glittered when he looked at Lance, and damn he looked so relaxed and free. He admired the way the grey of his eyes seemed to shift in the light, appearing almost a shade of violet. But he blinked, and the color was gone.

Pidge coughed, and Lance looked toward her. She nodded, a clear sign to leave them. He sighed and grabbed the door handle. He was about to shut it when he stuck his head back into the room. His squinted his eyes looking at Keith.

“If you do anything to her while I'm gone, I swear I'll – ”

“Katie would shoot me in the balls faster than you could get here, pretty boy. I'm sure she's got this vicious Galran under control.” Keith snorted, and Lance slammed the door shut.

  


****

  


Fucking shit. Goddamnit. Oh, holy hell balls. Keith's thumb ached. He hated having to dislocate it, and really just wanted to wait until Blue unlocked his handcuffs. But at the sight of Katie crying, he was on his feet, pulling his thumb out of his joint.

Keith could still feel the patches of wetness sticking to his chest. She was looking a little stronger and more like the girl he grew up with. Shiro would always take him over to the Holt's so that when him and Matt hung out, Pidge and Keith would too.

In the beginning, she absolutely hated him. She buried her face in her gameboy and ignored him. After three times, Matt ended up seeing them sitting on the couch together. Katie was playing pokemon, and Keith was sitting there reading one of Sam's space magazines. Matt had given Keith his gameboy to play on while he was over.

Katie glanced over and saw him struggling to catch pokemon. “It works best if you weaken them before using your pokeballs.” Keith had nodded and smiled triumphantly when he finally caught one. Katie smiled in return, and they had been friends ever since.

Keith smiled at the memory. Pidge rocked back on her heels before perching on the edge of the table. Keith sunk back into his chair, crossing his arms and propping his feet up on the table.

“Blue said you wanted to know about Matt?”

She nodded, “Yeah. I haven't seen him at home since he moved out five years ago for college stuff.” Keith nodded. Matt had been pretty strict about keeping his distance from his family. He was always paranoid that something would happen to them, something like what happened to his father.

“Want to go see him?” Keith asked, rolling out his shoulders.

Katie perked up, eyes alight and dancing.

“You fucking know it!” Her smile was devious, “But we'll have to sneak you out.”

Keith returned her smile.

  


****

  


Lance had gone back up to the bar, finished his drink and maybe another two that Hunk had made him. He hadn't realized how much time had passed until he checked his phone. It had buzzed, and when he pulled it out of his pocket he saw a random number had messaged him. He also saw that it had been just over an hour since he had left Pidge with Keith.

He bolted from the bar stool, ripped open the curtain, and slammed his palm against the elevator button. He bounced on the balls of his feet, squeezing between the barely opened doors before hitting the closed door button.

Pacing in the elevator, he checked his phone again. The message from the random number on the screen flashed at him. He opened it, curiosity getting the better of him.

He blanched, steadying himself on the elevator wall. It was a selfie of Keith. He was straddling his bike, handle bars jutting into the photo. His helmet was held under his left arm with his left hand holding up the middle finger. His hair was tied back into a low ponytail at the base of his neck, and the scab on his split lip threatened to tear with the confident smirk he was wearing.

And when Lance got to the interrogation room, no one was there.

" _Fuck!_ ”

  


****

  


The wind felt exhilarating through Keith’s hair. He was surprised that Blue hadn't actually lied about the position of his bike. She hummed between his legs, and he laughed as he took a sharp turn on the highway that cut through the city.

Katie’s thin arms were constricting around his middle. Her face was buried in between his shoulder blades, the rim of the helmet digging into his spine. He could feel the murmurs of her shit-talking against his shirt.

Her complaining only drove him to twist his hand and make his bike purr harder. Katie’s fingernails dug into his abdomen, but Keith just laughed. His knee almost skimmed the ground as he took a turn onto the exit where Matt lived.

He pulled to a sharp stop in front of the small apartment complex. The walls were painted white with large areas of chipping plaster. There were railings that lined the second story hallway, all of the doors facing the road. Matt’s door was painted a cracked red with the rusting bronze numbers “2F” skewed on the wood.

Keith knocked with the back of his hand. He had pushed Katie behind him, knowing that if Matt saw her before Keith could prop the door open, it would shut in their faces forever.

The door was flung open. Matt’s hair was a mess from his hands running through it constantly. Some of his nail beds were bloody from biting. Upon seeing Matt, Keith realized that it was seven pm and he had been missing for four hours.

Before he could apologize, Matt pulled him in a rough hug, “Where the fuck have you been, dude? Thace and I have been worried sick!”

“Well, I was taken to Altean headquarters,” Keith mumbled, rubbing small circles on Matt’s back, “Shiro helped Blue take me there after Blue drugged me.”

Matt pulled Keith away, harsh hands gripping his shoulders. Keith winced. His back was still sore from when Katie had unceremoniously ripped the taser barbs out of his flesh.

“You've got to be kidding me? Do you think this is a fucking joke?!” Matt was practically screaming. Keith shushed him and tried to push him back into his apartment. “How did you escape?” Matt whispered, realizing from the split lip and swelling black eye that Keith wasn't exaggerating.

“I had help.” Keith nodded behind him, and Matt froze the second he saw Katie.

Matt took a single step forward before Katie charged him and tackled him into the entrance of his apartment. She was crying as Matt fumbled hands on her back, moaning from the pain of getting the wind knocked out of him,

Keith waved awkwardly to a neighbor coming back with an armful of groceries. They simply tried to avoid eye contact.

After a couple minutes waiting for the Holt siblings to calm down, Keith managed to herd them both inside the apartment. Katie was sitting at the kitchen table. Matt busied himself with making her a cup of hot cocoa. Keith stood against the fridge, arms crossed and determined to merely be a bystander in this exchange.

Matt set the steaming cup in front of Katie, “It's been a while, Katie.”

Matt physically flinched when he met her glare, “Yeah, all thanks to you.” She took a harsh sip from the cup, ignoring the searing heat. “So you're apart of Galra?”

“Am I wrong to assume that you're part of Altea?” Matt quipped, returning the scathing tone Katie used. “Do you even know what they've done to -”

“No! No, I didn't know anything, because no one ever told me! So I went to Altea seeking answers to Dad’s murder, because you wouldn't tell me information that you obviously knew!” Katie stood up from her chair, mug forgotten on the table.

“Katie, I can explain.”

“Explain what? Explain why you were never home after that? Explain how it felt like I lost a brother too? What else can you possibly explain?” Katie bit her lip and her chin wobbled slightly. Keith could see that she was fighting back tears.

Matt stumbled backward, leaning against the counter for support, “I was afraid that Altea would get to you too if I stayed around the house too much.”

“I guess Altea got me anyway,” Katie snarled.

“You think I don't know that I fucked up?” Matt was crying, big tears that barely touched his cheeks, splattering on the floor, “I was the one that always talked to Dad about peace between Altea and Galra, and I was so excited when he said that he was meeting up a member of Altea. And then I fucking hear that he’s been murdered. I had to see his dead body Katie! I was the one who identified him, and had to act like I hadn't already seen my father's dead corpse in front of the police. You think I don't know that all of this is my fault. If I only died instead of getting an organ, Dad would be alive and Shiro would have a working arm!"

Keith pushed off his post and walked to Matt’s side. He quickly enveloped the boy in a hug, “You know that Sam and Shiro would never want you to blame yourself, right?” Matt buried his head into the crook of Keith’s neck. His tears settled against Keith’s collarbone.

Katie’s hand was soft and tentative on Keith’s shoulder. He pulled back and let the siblings hug. They were both crying and whispering words of comfort to each other. Keith walked out of the room to give them a moment.

He closed the door to the kitchen and slunk down the wall. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out.

Blue: _if you fucking hurt Pidge I swear I will hunt you to the ends of the earth and feed you to the crows._  
Keith: _calm down there, pretty boy_  
Keith: _she's in safe hands_  
Keith: _probably more safe with me than with your boss._  
Keith: _I would feel sorry for the ass kicking you're going to get, but the punctures I have in my back from that fucking taser make me feel otherwise_  
Blue: _Allura would never hurt Pidge_  
Keith: _oh, she already murdered you then? Haha_  
[Blue sent an image]  
Blue: _she found me. Murdered me. And is now preparing the funeral._

  


Keith sucked in a sharp breath at the selfie that Blue had sent. Each individual finger of the slap was still outlined in red on his cheek. The imprints of the rings were deeper and a harsher shade of red. Damn, but it wouldn't bruise or anything major. Keith knew members of Galra that had gotten off far worse for far lesser crimes.

Keith: _should I bring flowers?_  
Blue: _Yes, please. My mother is sure to appreciate them._  
Blue: _ugh, just not lillies though. They are so cliché -_-_  
Blue: _tulips are my favorite_  
Keith: _when's the funeral? I'll wear my best suit jacket_  
Blue: _just the jacket?? >:( I'm offended_  
Blue: _ps the funeral’s tomorrow_  
Blue: _you better kiss my dead body goodbye_  


Keith laughed and decided not to dignify that with a response, but he couldn't help himself from browsing flower shops online.

  


****

  


Lance strode into Legendary with a sullen grin on his face. Allura was having him deal with finding a new dealer to replace Harold and it was wearing him ragged. Sure, he had only looked last night, but finding competent drug dealers was harder than you would think.

Allura was sitting at the bar with a stoic look on her face. A look that screamed that the hurricane had merely paused. “So, you haven't heard from Pidge either, I'm assuming.”

Lance nodded, sliding into the bar seat next to her.

“But you've heard from Red?” Allura’s voice was steady, not betraying her emotions.

“A little,” Lance rolled his shoulder. “He somehow got my number and ended up texting me a selfie of him on his bike. What a douche, am I right?”

“So you guys really hit it off?” Allura rested her cheek in her hand, elbow propped on the edge of the bar. She raised a single eyebrow.

Lance blanched, “What? Why would you even think that?”

Allura waved a single finger in the air, “Hunk?” Hunk who had remained motionless behind the bar, pulled a vase of tulips from under the bar. The tulips were bright red and waxy. Hunk placed the vase directly in front of Lance.

A small note was tied to the ribbon around the vase. Lance fumbled with the note, turning it over to read the message.

 _Tulips are red._  
_These are for Blue._  
_For your funeral,_  
_Always mourning you._

_xoxo Red_

Lance swallowed hard. He couldn't fight the blush that stung at the back of his neck and the tips of his ears. His fingers tapped the sharp edges of the card.

What the actual fuck?

He could feel Allura’s darkly inquisitive gaze settle on him. She was analyzing every single reaction he was having to the blushing tulips in front of him. Lance honestly never expected that something like this would happen. He could almost picture the laughing smirk on Keith’s face as he finalized his order.

Not only would this present make Allura more upset with him, it also went to prove that Keith knew where their headquarters were. And it showed that there was something between the two of them. At the thought, Lance’s stomach clenched and tingled.

Allura grabbed Lance’s wrist, pulling his eyes to her reflexively, “Whatever the fuck you think you have with Red, it better fucking stop. He’s Galran.”

“Takashi’s Galran,” Lance bit back. He didn't know where the defiance came from. He didn't know why he had said anything at all. It wasn't like him and Keith actually had a thing - were a thing. It wasn't like they were anything, so why did he say something when he knew that it would resume the hurricane playing out on Allura’s features.

She stood abruptly, starling both Lance and Hunk. “Find Pidge tonight and bring her home.” She strode toward the elevator, when she stopped. She didn't turn back to face Lance, but her voice was loud, “Romance with Galra never works. We are just too different.”

And with that, she disappeared behind the curtain. Lance looked toward Hunk who had started taking inventory.

“She still hasn't completely forgiven Takashi. And you know her past with Lotor, so you can't really blame her for saying anything,” Hunk commented, never looking up from his clipboard.

“Yeah, but it's not like I actually have a thing with Keith.” Lance ruffled his hair, “I don't even know why I said anything.”

“Are you sure you don't have something going on with him?”

“I think I would know, Hunk!”

Hunk finally looked up from his list, raising a single eyebrow at Lance, “Those tulips beg to differ, buddy.”

Lance groaned and banged his forehead against the cool wooden bar.


	2. Steam and Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read the first chapter! Especially those who gave kudos and left comments!!
> 
> Please be aware that I added some tags and will continue to add tags as the story develops
> 
> I really, really hope you enjoy this chapter!

Keith stumbled from bed without grabbing a shirt. His pajama pants trailed on the floor as he unlocked the deadbolt and two other locks on the door. He rubbed at his eyes as he yawned, opening the door with little care as to who was on the other side. Whoever was waking him up before 10am on a Monday morning didn't deserve his respect.

His eyes widened when he saw a boy dressed in a green jacket, cream hood pulled up and brushing wisps of hair across his forehead. His shoulders were hunched and the hem of his baseball tee brushed the top of his skinny jeans. A slight blush from the cold coated his cheeks.

“Hey Keith.” Blue stiffly waved.

Keith grabbed Blue’s collar with panicked hands. He pulled Blue inside, throwing him down his hallway. Blue stumbled, but caught himself on the wall. Keith slammed the door shut.

Panic shot down his spine as he felt Blue's eyes on him. There was the threat of the Galra seeing Blue enter his apartment, and the threat Blue now posed in his apartment. One was more immediate than the other. And without another thought, he turned with ferocious motions and charged Blue. There was a sudden look of shock on Blue's face. He stuttered and faltered in his footsteps as Keith swung a punch.

Blue barely managed to block, pushing Keith's punch toward the wall. Keith hissed as one of his knuckles skimmed the wall and drew blood. Blue stumbled backward, feet tripping over themselves. He couldn't steady himself and tumbled to the ground. Keith with his clawing hands was soon to follow.

Keith grabbed Blue's shoulders, quickly mounting himself on top of the boy. He pulled one hand back. Without mercy, he socked Blue across the jaw. There was a sudden dazed look across the Altean’s face as his head snapped to the right. It passed quickly as he bucked his hips up, sending Keith sprawling to the side.

Keith struggled with kicking legs and a desperation that made him forget any jujitsu training he had. Blue pushed away his flailing limbs and pinned him against the cold hardwood with his body. He quickly mounted Keith, pinning his hips.

Before Keith could strike back with his free hands, Blue drew a gun from his waistband. With fumbling hands, he switched off the safety and pointed it at Keith. Keith paused with his hands placating in front of him.

The punch to Blue's jaw had split his lip. With the hand that wasn't holding the gun, he wiped the blood with the back of his hand. There was a slight growl of disgust as some stained the cuff of his jacket. Keith watched him warily, looking for an opening to switch who was the dominate one. But Blue's eyes didn't leave his for a second.

Blue lowered the gun, pressing the barrel to Keith's chin and forcing his head backward. Keith's hands twitched to swat the gun away. The metal was hot, warmed by the heat of Blue's body, as it pressed into the tender flesh of Keith's neck. Blue's weight shifted forward slightly, pressing the gun more deeply into Keith's windpipe. Every breath was a wheeze.

“I really didn't want things to go over this way,” Blue tsked.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here?” Keith growled, attempting to appear unphased by the gun at his throat. It had been a long while since someone had pointed a gun at him with such determination to kill in their eyes.

Blue sighed and leaned back on Keith's hips a little more, pinning him harder against the floor. The pressure of the gun against his throat lessened, but the metal never left his skin. “I'm honestly here on peaceful terms.” Blue spoke, voice sincere and eyes pleading for Keith to understand.

It was in that second that Keith realized how shirtless he was and how Blue was mounting him, thighs pressing tight and muscled around him, and looking at him with earnest eyes. Arousal flitted through his veins.

“Get off me, Blue.”

“Only if you promise you wont attack me again.” His tone was playful, but the sternness of his declaration settled in his eyes and pressure of the gun against Keith's neck.

Keith nodded, and Blue must have seen something truthful in his action, because he tucked the gun back into his waistband and stood. He lent a hand to Keith who brushed it off and stood of his own volition. He mumbled to himself, “You were the one that broke into _my_ apartment.”

He pulled his pajama pants up, covering the thin sliver of his boxers that had shown. Keith glanced at the door, and in a second he was turning every lock with panicked hands. He looked out the peephole. It didn't seem as if anyone had noticed Blue’s visit. He exhaled a breath in relief and turned a scathing glare on Blue.

“So do you care to explain now, what the _fuck_ you're doing here?” Keith growled, marching forward.

Blue pulled down his hood and ran a hand through his hair. There was a slight blush on his cheeks, “Pidge won't answer her phone, and Allura ordered me to find her and bring her home.”

Keith crossed his arms, again suddenly and alarmingly aware that he wasn't wearing a shirt. Blue’s eyes seemed to wander around the apartment, looking everywhere except for Keith. He tapped his foot, focusing on Blue’s darting gaze.

“That doesn't explain what you're doing in my apartment,” Keith snapped. Blue looked almost shameful as his hand went to rub the back of his neck. “Shiro told you, didn't he?”

“Yeah, but it was kind of as a last resort,” Blue finally met Keith’s eyes, and it was evident in his tone that he was lying. There was a red tint to his ears and a stiffness to his neck and shoulders that wasn't there out of sheer awkwardness. And Keith knew Shiro too well to think he wouldn't give Blue his address if it helped his teammate.

Keith huffed a laugh, “Don't fuck with me, Blue. I bet Shiro came to you with,” Keith cleared his voice and imitated Shiro’s deeper tone, “‘I can tell you Keith’s address, he probably hasn't moved since I lived with him. But you have to promise not to take advantage of him.’” Keith gave a glare so similar to the ones that Shiro gave, it forced Blue to stutter a laugh.

“Oh my god,” Blue placed a hand on his chest, laughing whole heartedly, “That's exactly what he was like.”

“He's such a dad,” Keith laughed, a soft echo of Blue’s laughter. Smiling, he leaned against the wall, “So you're looking for Katie?”

Blue’s tone shifted, all business and Keith couldn't help but miss the informality, “Yeah, is she here?”

Keith walked past Blue to his bedroom. Despite the wonderful moments of informality and budding friendship between them, Keith didn't trust Blue in the slightest. “Give me one good reason why I should tell you where she is,” Keith commented as he pulled open his drawer and threw on a shirt.

Blue leaned against the doorframe, “We’re worried about her.” Keith turned and flinched at how honest and open Blue’s expression was.

Sighing, he opened his phone and pressed Matt’s speed dial. It went to voicemail. Keith cursed Matt and tried again. On the fourth call, he finally picked up with a groggy voice, “What?”

“Did I wake you?”

“Not really. I’m honestly more surprised that you're awake,” Matt laughed, and Keith heard the crinkling of sheets. No matter what Matt had said, Keith was sure that he had woken him up.

Keith chuckled, “Yeah, I have a good reason why I'm awake. Blue’s here, and he’s asking for Katie. Can you put her on?”

Keith could hear Matt place his hand on the receiver of the phone and the muffled conversation he had with Katie. Blue took several steps into the room, but Keith shot him a look which made him pause.

After a minute of muffled conversation, Katie’s voice rang through the phone, “What does Lance want?”

“Lance?”

“What?” Blue quipped, putting more weight on one foot and trying to appear casual. So Lance was his civilian name? He gave Keith a small smirk and the Galran realized the name suited him, all tan skin and long legs.

Keith swallowed and turned his attention to Katie, “Shiro sent him here, because supposedly Altea is looking for you.”

Katie groaned into the phone and Keith chuckled.

“I know that I should've realized how much of a shit show this would be before we even left Legendary,” Katie ranted in his ear. He pinned the phone against his shoulder as he walked into the kitchen and switched on his coffee marker. It was old and stained, bought used from a garage sale he and Shiro went to years ago. He filled the coffee pot with water and turned to Lance.

“Hazelnut, okay?”

Lance merely nodded, standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a dazed look on his face. Keith nodded and went back to listening to Katie rant.

  


****

  


Lance was so fucked.

Takashi had pulled him aside yesterday after he had spent all night wandering the edges of Galra territory. He ventured in several times, covering up his Altea tattoo and wearing the most nondescript clothing he owned. The farthest he had ever gone into Galra territory was to steal Red's bike, and that wasn’t even that deep. There was only so far he dared to venture. Especially at night with no back up.

He had stumbled back to Legendary at three am to see Takashi mopping up the floor. He leaned against the mop and given Lance a small, cautious smile.

“Couldn't find her?”

“I can only go so far into Galra territory,” Lance mumbled, slumping into a chair and propping up his tired feet. Takashi walked to his side and smacked his feet off the table. He sunk into a seat next to the exhausted boy.

Takashi bit his lip, “She's either at Matt’s or Keith’s apartment.” Lance’s head snapped up at that. Takashi wasn't looking at him, gaze wandering the gleaming bottles of alcohol stacked on the shelves behind the bar. His body seemed to waver, “I don't know where Matt’s new apartment is, but I doubt Keith has moved since I left.”

“Could you go get her?” Lance whispered, worried to disturb the cautious atmosphere Shiro had established.

Takashi gave him a small, painful smile, “I'm too recognizable, and Lotor was very clear that if I was ever in Galra territory again, I would be shot dead on sight.” He gave a small one shoulder shrug as if to brush off the weight of the sentence. “I can tell you Keith’s address only if you swear that you'll never use it against him or against Galra.”

Lance nodded, but that only made Takashi's gaze harden. He swallowed and straightened his back, placing his palms on the table before him, “I swear on Altea.” And Takashi had nodded.

Lance had slept restlessly for the rest of the night, finally wandering into Galra territory in a bland jacket at 9am. He found Keith’s apartment, tucked into a complex not far from the bar Juniberries where Lance had stolen Keith’s bike.

He wiped his palm on his jeans four times before he finally got up the courage to knock. And Keith opened the door shirtless.

Shirtless.

Lance was barely okay with registering that Keith was attractive, and shirtless, the thought hit him like a freight train. He was well muscled and littered with scars that ranged from glistening trails of white to puckered blushed strikes of lightening.

He smiled as confidently as he could. “Hey Keith.”

And Keith had dragged him into the apartment. And here they were now. His lip stung against the hot coffee mug Keith had pushed across the table to him.

He had been on the phone with Pidge for the last half an hour, leaning against the countertop. He crossed his ankles and absentmindedly sipped at his coffee. Lance had tapped his fingertips on the table impatiently and tried to gather what Pidge was saying from Keith's responses. He seemed to hum and nod at the correct times, but he barely responded in earnest until one point.

He laughed. Loud and barking. The coffee cup splashed on the counter as he slammed it down, “He did not say that!” Lance could finally hear some of Pidge's wild laughter and screams through the phone. “No! I refuse to believe that! Katie, no!” Keith laughed, wiping a small tear from his eyes.

But a minute later, the conversation was back to it's original pace. Lance finally cleared his throat, and Keith jumped. It was as if he’d forgotten the tall Altean was there. Keith put his hand to the receiver and whispered, “You know girls?”

Keith jumped as the tinny voice through the phone sounded, “What? Oh, that? Nothing. I didn't say anything.” His voice was playful and teasing. And he shot Lance a smile, so joking and open it made him question who Galra's Red truly was. Who was the boy that had sat in the Altean interrogation room and spat blood on the floor?

Lance sighed and settled back into his chair. His fingers felt shaky, and the tension in his neck and shoulders was getting painful. He was too stressed, his body tensing and shaking. He pulled a slightly squished package of cigarettes out of his coat pocket. It was a horrible habit he picked up when he first joined Altea back when he was 16. One of the older guys had offered him one, and as a means to fit in, he added another financial problem to his situation. Thankfully, Altean was paying more than enough to support his dirty habit and his family.

He tapped the bottom of the box and took the protruding cigarette between his tingling lips. After tugging it from the box, he forcefully shoved it back into his pocket. He fished his navy blue lighter from his tight pant's pocket. The flame was small as he brought it up to the white end of the cigarette.

“If you smoke that in here, I'll shoot you in the foot.” Keith growled.

Lance huffed and the flame dissipated. He shoved the lighter in his pocket and tucked the cigarette behind his ear. Burying his shaking hands deep into his pockets, he squinted his eyes at Keith, “You literally cut the organs out of dead bodies, but you care if I smoke in your apartment.”

“Cigarettes smell horrible, and it's not like I bring the organs here to rot or something.” Keith rolled his eyes, “I also don't want you to give me cancer, so you can keep your cancer sticks to yourself, Altean.” Keith kept his eyes on him as he brought the phone back to his ear. “Yeah, so do you want to explain to Lance or should I?”

He paused for a second, and it was the first clear sentence Lance had heard the entire conversation, “Nah, you can tell your boyfriend yourself.”

“I'm not even going to dignify that with a response, Katie.” Keith growled and hug up the phone. He sighed and slipped his phone back into his baggy pajama pant pocket.

There was silence between them for a second.

“Katie said that she would go back to Altea,” Lance smiled brightly, “Only after they agree to a couple conditions.” Lance's smile dropped. Conditions from Pidge were typically something you never wanted. Allura and Lance may have been the main strategists of Altea, but that was because Pidge was already busy enough crafting drugs and erasing their presence on the internet.

Lance sat up straighter, placing his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers, “What did she say her demands were.” Keith had a small rueful smile at the word “demands.”

“There must be protection for all members of the Holt family.”

“Already granted as a member of Altea.”

“All members includes Matt.” Keith took a sip from his half finished coffee. Lance had been tracing his spoon around the empty bottom of his cup for the last ten minutes.

Lance's nose scrunched for a second, “It will still extend to him. It's a policy of Altea's.” He sighed, slumping, “I'm honestly not sure what else I can guarantee. I don't hold much decision power in Altea, no matter what you may think.”

“What I may think?”

“Yeah, what you may think. You’re Galra’s golden boy. I’m sure that I don’t have nearly as much influence as you do.” Lance shrugged one shoulder. And it was at that moment that the realization of where he was hit him. He was sitting casually in the kitchen of his rival, his enemy.

A shiver coursed over his body, and his hand twitched in his pocket, aching to reach for his gun. His shaking seemed to stop as a wash of dizziness threatened to capsized his consciousness.

Keith smiled weakly, “Galra isn’t as cooperative as you make it seem.” He pulled out the chair opposite of Lance. Sinking into the seat, he crossed his arms and the tension in the room rose. They were both very aware of who was on the other side of the table, of who they represented, of who they were loyal to.

Lance struggled to focus on Keith’s actions. The tiny movements of his eyebrows and fingers, knowing that he needed to be watchful of the Galran’s actions.

“Katie also demands that Altea allow her and Matt free travel through Altea and Galra territory alike.”

Lance barked a laugh at that, “If she thinks Allura will agree to give a Galran free travel through our territory, Pidge’s being delusional.” There was a newfound lightness to Lance’s chest as a chagrined smile pulled on the corners of his lips.

Keith hand twitched on his bicep. Lance watched his fingers dig into the pale flesh. There was a sharp exhale between tight lips, before Keith spoke. “I don’t want to sound threatening, but Allura will agree to these simple terms.”

“What makes you say that?”

In a second, the side of Lance’s face screamed in pain. It flashed through his temple and pounded around his ears. Keith had jumped around the table and with an open palm had slammed Lance’s head against the wall. His grip was tight and digging on strands of Lance’s hair.

Lance whimpered through a clenched jaw as Keith’s knee came bearing down on his inner thigh. The pain was shooting and the second his hand attempted to reach for his gun, Keith snatched it up. The Galran pinned Lance’s hand by his head on the wall.

The chair tipped back precariously. The feet scratched against the ground and the back of the chair peeled strands of paint off the wall. Keith pushed more weight on his knee to lean forward.

His lips were soft and barely brushing the tender skin by Lance’s ear. His voice was a whisper, “She’ll agree to the terms, because I have you for leverage.”

  


****

  


He had extended his talk with Katie on purpose, wanting to lull Lance into a false sense of security without the effects kicking in too strongly. However, he had partially tipped Lance off with his body language when he sat down at the table. There was a new awareness to the Altean’s eyes and a stiffness to his shoulders.

Lance was still surprised when Keith pounced on him. The Altean was pinned beneath him, chest rising and falling urgently. His body was hot, radiating heat. Keith’s fingers that were curled around the tanned wrist started to sweat. Keith squashed the small shiver of arousal in his abdomen as he leaned in closer to whisper in the boy’s ear.

“She’ll agree to the terms, because I have you for leverage.”

Keith heard Lance grit his teeth and felt the corner of his jaw brush closer to Keith’s lips. Lance’s resistance against Keith’s hold started to waver. There was a weakness to his limbs and a relaxation of his shoulders.

“It’s okay to sleep, Lance.” Keith purred against his ear, loosening his hold on the Altean’s hair, “I’ll take good care of you.”

After a minute, Lance collapsed against Keith’s hold. Keith pushed the four legs of the chair back on the ground. He propped the boy up, and handcuffed him to the chair. Using duct tape, he taped the boys legs together.

Standing back, Keith admired his work. “That’s for stabbing me with a needle in the alley the other day,” He mumbled to himself before fishing Lance’s phone out of his pocket.

Keith jumped up on the counter after he pressed Lance’s thumb to the home button, unlocking the phone. He scrolled through the contacts until he found Allura - she was entered in Lance’s phone under the contact “Princess.”

He dialed her number.

“Lance,” There was a small breath of relaxation to her accented voice. “Shiro told me where you went. Are you alright?”

“That all depends on you, Allura.” Keith hummed, looking over Lance’s slumped body again.

“Red?” Allura growled through the phone, “What the hell did you do to Lance?”

Keith kicked his feet, letting his heels hit against the cabinet in rhythmic thuds, “I’ve only given him a small sleep aid. And if you agree to my proposal, that’ll be the only thing that happens to him.”

“I won’t agree to anything _you_ suggest for several reasons. One, I don’t negotiate with Galra. And two I don’t believe you’ll actually do anything to hurt him.” Her voice took on a haughty tone, obviously proud of her deductions. “It’s obvious that you like him. After all, you did send him flowers, Red.”

There was a slight tinge of worry at the end of her sentence, as if the haughtiness was just a facade to cover her true fear. Because if she let Keith know the huge amount of influence Lance had on Altea, he would be able to demand more. Be able to leverage Lance’s safety for more.

Keith smiled, picking up on the minute fluctuations in her voice.

“Flowers?” Keith chuckled darkly into the receiver. He hopped off the counter and strode over to Lance. He brushed a strand of brown hair behind Lance’s ear, fingers trailing down the Altean’s jaw before dropping back to his side. “You’re going to base your decision whether to listen to me on a dozen tulips I sent to Blue as a joke?”

There was silence from Allura.

“How about I send you proof of how serious I am?” Keith growled into the phone. Still there was silence. He sauntered into his bathroom and grabbed a black bag from the sink cabinet. Slamming it down on the table, he unzipped it quietly so that the phone wouldn’t pick it up.

He put the phone on speaker and placed it next to the bag. He picked up some of the contents, admiring them and humming to himself.

“I wonder what I should do to him.”

“Red, these tactics will not work with me.” Her voice was just as firm as it was in the beginning of the call. She wasn’t the leader of Altea for nothing. “You’re doing nothing but aggravating the peace agreement.”

Quickly grabbing a couple brushes from the bag and a large makeup palette, he began dressing Lance’s face. “I’m not infringing on any rules, Allura. Blue wandered into my apartment on Galra territory of his own volition. I’m completely within my rights as a member of Galra to do with him as a please.”

Keith hummed, looking at the work he had done. He wasn’t extraordinarily skilled at makeup, mainly using it to cover up bruises and cuts. Nyma had taught him some of the basics early on, because he had gotten tired of going to the principal’s or guidance counselor's office every other day in middle and high school. Matt had been the one to teach him how to craft fake injuries. He always said it might come in handy, and this was one of those times.

“He definitely does have a pretty face. If I mess it up, do you think he’ll cry when he wakes up?” Grabbing a tube of some fake blood, he smeared it on Lance’s already cut lip to dramatize the injury and a small cut he had convincely created on Lance’s cheek.

“Allura, last chance to talk before things get messy.”

“I will not repeat myself, Red.”

Grabbing a pillow from the couch, Keith punched it with a small grunt while pushing Lance’s chair back. There were a couple moments of silence, staccatoed by Keith’s harsh breathing.

“Still need convincing? Want to see a picture as proof of how serious I am, princess?”

He snapped a picture on Lance’s phone and sent it to her. The light pouring in through the kitchen window helped obscure the rough makeuped edges of the wounds Keith had given him. Lance’s head was lulled against one shoulder. Some of the fake blood bubbled from his lips. The fake cut on his cheek looked like a gash caused by a ring. The blood had started to carve a path down the contours of Lance’s face.

“I really didn’t want to do anything too damaging, but I wouldn’t be opposed to start cutting off fingers or ripping of fingernails next.”

“What do you wish to speak to me about?” Allura’s voice was artic. Frozen and cold and completely detached from the situation.

Keith leaned back against the counter, “Oh? Now you wish to speak to a Galran.” He couldn’t fight the cocky grin on his face or the arrogance in his tone.

“You have five seconds.”

“I was speaking with Katie - Pidge as you call her.” Keith began, dumping the rest of the sleep-aid laced coffee down the drain. “She wants protection for all of her family members, Matt included.” Allura merely hummed in response, “She also demands free travel through Altea and Galra territory for her family.”

Allura tsked, “I’m guessing this also includes Matt.”

“Yes.”

“Will she consent to a guard for Matt at all times?”

“No. But she will consent to programming Matt’s phone with a location service that will activate in Altean territory and notify you of his location.” Keith thumbed through the text message on his phone. He had made sure that Katie messaged him all of the details regarding her demands.

There was silence on the other end. “I will consent to that if Pidge and Lance return to Altea tonight. Unharmed.” Allura’s voice was deadly.

“Of course, princess. Pleasure doing business with you.” Keith mocked as he hung up on Allura. He kicked at Lance’s shin and examined his empty coffee cup. He was sure to be out for at least another six hours.

Keith shoved Lance’s phone back into the Altea’s jacket pocket, but not before taking a selfie with Lance’s sleeping, dolled-up faace and setting it as the background.

The real issue now was how to get Lance to Legendary. Keith only had his bike, and he didn't really want to try riding double for the first time with an unconscious person. With his own phone, he dialed Matt’s number.

“Matt, I need to borrow your car.”

  


****

  


Lance awoke to a cacophony of noise. Pounding music and footsteps and conversations. Singing and screaming girls and the sound of clinking glasses. He scratched at his head as he sat up on the small couch.

There were small aches all over his body. His wrists were twinging and the side of his face sharply radiated with pain. The commotion outside of the small room he occupied only resonated in his aching temples and caused him to groan.

It took a minute for Lance to finally register where he was. He was in the employee lounge in the back of Legendary. It must have been a busy Monday night at the bar for the amount of noise filtering through the walls. Pidge was sitting in an armchair next to him, tapping away at her computer. Her eyes were focused, and her glasses sat low on her nose.

Lance rubbed a hand over his eyes, only to feel something sticky smear onto the back of his hand. With a disgusted noise, he pulled his hand back to look at it. It was a viscous red liquid that clung to his skin.

“Oh, you ruined all of Keith’s hard work,” Pidge commented, pushing up her glasses.

With the surge of a kind anger that only arises from helplessness and vulnerability, Lance ground out between clenched teeth, “What the hell happened?”

Pidge shut her laptop, focusing all of her attention on Lance. She opened her mouth to begin talking, but was cut off by the abrupt opening of the door. Allura strode in in all of her glory. She was dressed in a long-sleeve, blue-lace shirt that was tucked into a short, black-leather skirt. The sheerness of her top highlighted her bright pink bra that beautifully contrasted her dark skin. Her hair was an attractive, curly mess around her shoulders.

Wide lips popped into a smile as she rushed Lance. She wrapped him in a tight hug. Lance was taken aback, hands hovering over Allura’s back before finally embracing her in earnest. “Lance, I’m so glad that you’re alright.” Her accent was thick, typically evident after a couple drinks. A thin scent of gin wafted off her breath.

“Of course I’m alright, Princess.” Lance laughed, before he felt Allura cringe against his hands. She smiled weakly and pulled out of their hug. “So does anyone what to tell me what actually happened after I went to Keith’s place?”

Allura paused a second to look at Lance’s face. With a tentative thumb, she brushed some of the sticky substance off his cheek. Her hand clenched in anger before boisterous laughter echoed in the small room, drowning out the noise of the bar.

“Pidge, you’re free to go after you finish the program.” Allura patted Pidge on the shoulder before heading to the door again, “Tell him everything you did.”

There was a second when the door was open that the stench of alcohol and sweat wafted into the lounge. Some colored spotlights spilled in after, peeking under the crack of the door after Allura shut it.

Lance leaned back on the couch, wincing when his wrist thumped against the armrest. “So Pidge, want to tell me what happened after Keith shoved my face into a wall?”

“So you actually remember that?” She smiled ruefully, tapping nervous fingers over her closed computer. “Well, we knew that Altea would come for me soon enough. Keith could guess that Takashi would give up the location of his apartment sooner rather than later. And knowing Allura, she wouldn’t readily agree to some of my more outrageous conditions to return to Altea,” Pidge was babbling at a thousand miles a minute, but Lance didn’t stop her. “So we devised a plan where Keith would slip you an Altean sleeping aid - ”

“You mean that shitty date-rape drug you made on accident once?!” Lance shrieked, hands flying up in the hair.

Pidge at least had the self awareness to look genuinely embarrassed, “Well, yeah. That’s the one.” She scratched the back of her head, looking at Lance for the sign to continue. He huffed, but nodded. “So he called Allura and used you as leverage to get my terms accepted.”

“So why am I covered in makeup and - is this fake blood?” Lance questioned, pointing and the smear on the back of his hand.

“We knew that we couldn’t get Allura to crack unless we actually showed evidence of Keith harming you. So Keith faked some injuries and sent a picture to Allura,” Pidge shrugged her shoulder as if that wasn’t the most monumental thing she had said, “So, yeah. We’ve only been back for about 15 minutes. And I’m kind of in deep shit with Allura, but I think since she realized your injuries were only makeup, I might not be as dead as I thought I was.”

Pidge laughed, but Lance had stopped paying attention. Keith had had him passed out and vulnerable in his apartment. He could have done anything and there would have been no way for any member of Altea to intervene. Not without the danger of falling into Galra hands themselves or breaking the peace treaty.

And in that time of total domination and power, Keith not only didn’t hurt him but helped a member of Altea.

Lance rose from his seat on the couch. He was slightly dizzy, and his head ached. Take that back, Keith did hurt him. But not as badly as he could’ve - which coming from a member of Galra was an accomplishment in itself.

“I’m going home.” Lance mumbled and stalked out of Legendary with Pidge silently padding behind.

Outside the bar, she caught his hand, “Lance.” He turned and looked down at her. She looked smaller than he had ever seen her. There was hesitation in her eyes, something he rarely saw. She was always so decisive - striking and hitting without questioning her actions. “I’m sorry about what happened, but thank you for trying to work with Keith to allow Matt to see me. I won’t forgive Keith for hurting you.” She smiled weakly.

Lance scratched her head, messing up her hair. She pulled back with an indignant, “Hey!”

“Don’t worry about it, Pidge. I’m just glad that your brother can visit you.” Lance walked the 6 blocks to the small apartment he shared with Hunk. He barely had the chance to kick off his shoes before falling into bed, exhausted.

His phone dinged and he dug it out of his coat pocket.

Red: _Katie’s blackmailing me to send this message_  
Red: _thanks for helping her_  
Red: _and I promise next time we have coffee, there won’t be any drugs in it_  
Lance: _so you’re saying you want to take me out again, huh bad boy? Lol ;)_

Lance snorted at the small joke he had made. He wondered if the message would make Keith flustered. He had never seen the Galran flustered. Angry and indignant, yes. Decisive and rash, yes. But never flustered. That surely would be a sight to see.

Grunting, he rose up off his bed and staggered to the bathroom. The bathroom light was blinding when he switched it on. Shaky hands on the counter, he leaned forward and peered at the smudged makeup on his face. Even smudged and smeared with fake blood, it still looked convincing. His cheek looked bruised and swollen and he was almost afraid to touch it.

Red: _if I told you the blackmail Katie had on me, you wouldn’t be laughing_  
Red: _she’s terrifying_  
Lance: _I am veeerrryyy aware of how terrifying she is_  
Lance: _within her first two weeks with Altea, she had broadcasted everyone’s porn search history_  
Lance: _she said that it was her stating her dominance_  
Lance: _Keith. Buddy. Pal. I don’t think you understand how scarring that was!! I learned so much that I never, NEVER wanted to know! 0_o_

Lance shook his head, remembering the horrified faces of everyone in the gang. Pidge said she wanted to make a stand since she was joining Altea as a 16 year old girl. Her father had only just passed away, and she was thirsty for blood and information. She had posted flyers around the bar and sent the document to every members phone with a small hacking code that forced you to read the entire thing before you could normally use your phone.

Cringing at the memory, Lance picked up a towel and began to remove the makeup from his face. After washing his face and applying his nightly moisturizer, he grabbed his phone and strode back into his bedroom.

Red: _oh, I can imagine_  
Red: _I went to highschool with Katie_  
Red: _you really don’t want to image the shit she got us into_  
Lance: _Please give me an example!!_  
Red: _in your dreams, Blue_  
Lance: _Don’t make me ask Pidge!! >:)_  
Red: _oh_  
Red: _my_  
Red: _god_

Lance plugged his phone in and snuggled deep into the blankets. He placed his phone on the pillow and yawned. Even though he had been asleep for the majority of the day thanks to both Pidge and Keith, he was still exhausted. The sleep that he had gotten earlier was light and fuzzy like wasted time.

His head jerked up at the sound of rapid vibrations. He palmed at his phone and answered the call with a groggy voice, “Hello?”

“Oh, sorry. Did I wake you?”

Lance’s eyes flashed open at that. Any hint of exhaustion that had settled over his body vanished at the sound of that voice. Deep and husky and surprisingly playful - the kind of playful it got when there was no one else there and the outside world was forgotten.

“Not really. I got a lot of sleep earlier today, all thanks to you, Keith.” Lance growled, but the tone was light and mimicking Keith’s. He settled back into his pillows.

“I’m not really sorry that it happened, but I do feel bad that you drank the entire cup so quickly. I honestly wasn’t expecting that.”

Lance rolled his eyes, “What can I say? I love coffee.” Keith made a disgusted grunt, “What was that for? Do you not like coffee?”

“I tolerate it, but I definitely prefer tea. The coffee maker was Shiro’s.” The comment was made offhandedly, but there was a new tension to Keith’s voice after that, “So, I called to tell you an example, because I really don’t want you asking Katie for any.”

“And why’s that?”

“She never tells it straight.”

Lance barked a laugh at Keith’s exasperated tone, “Okay, bad boy. Tell me a story then.”

Keith cleared his throat, “Okay, so did you have senior pranks in high school?”

“Yeah. Where the senior class plays a harmless prank on the school?”

“When Katie’s involved, no pranks are harmless.” Lance barked a laugh at that, rolling onto his back and staring at the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling. His little sisters had decorated his room when he had moved in with Hunk. They had laughed as they tried to recreate actual constellations. It was inaccurate, warped and scattered, but he loved it all the same.

Keith chuckled under his breath before continuing, “So of course the senior prank was planned by the popular kids so - ”

“Are you saying that you and Pidge weren’t the height of popularity in high school?”

“I had gauges along with a septum and eyebrow piercing. Katie had dip dyed the tips of her hair green. Black was the only color we wore. We constantly quoted MCR or Slipknot. And we wore more eyeliner than the popular girls, so I would say that no, we weren’t the _height of popularity_ , Lance.”

Lance rolled in his bed cackling at the defensive tone in Keith’s voice. “Oh my god, I need pictures!”

“Katie was in the gang in high school, so you already know what she looked like. Why do you need pictures?”

“Of you, nerd! I need to see you go full emo.”

Keith growled into the phone, “If you dare ask Shiro or Katie for any pictures, I will personally show up at your apartment and beat the shit out of you.”

Lance couldn’t fight the laughter in his tone as he continued to tease Keith, “Awe, you wouldn’t do that, mullet.”

“Mullet?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know that you had a fucking mullet?”

Lance rolled onto his stomach and kicked his feet into the air behind him. He pulled a pillow to his chest as he waited for Keith’s response.

“Do you want me to finish this story or not, Blue?”

Lance flinched at the name change. There was a little less familiarity in Keith’s tone, and he kind of hated it. He didn’t know why he was so desperate to be close to Keith, a Galran, and his constant competition since joining Altea. Maybe it was the fact that they had grown up in similar atmospheres. Maybe it was because of the gang life. Maybe it was the fucking alignment of the stars the day they met. But whatever shit it was, Lance was dying to hear Keith’s tone soften again.

He breathed and switched the phone to his other ear, “Sorry, buddy. You know I was just joking. Please continue.”

“Okay, so Katie went up to the group coordinating the prank asking if she could help. But they laughed at her and told her to fuck off.”

“Oh, shit,” Lance breathed.

Keith huffed, “Yeah, I fucking know. So of course she swears revenge by ruining their senior prank and making her own prank even better than they could ever imagine. And somehow, I’m wrapped into all of this.”

Lance heard the clanking of glasses and he assumed Keith was getting a late night drink of something. It put a small smile on his face thinking of Keith in such a domestic setting.

“So we find out that the senior prank is just doing the harlem shake during every class change.”

“Oh my god, that’s so lame!”

“I know! So Katie found out that the way they were going to play the harlem shake was from an old iPod one of the popular kids had. She made me steal it from his bookbag during the one class I had with him so that she could hack in and change the audio to the song. I slipped it back into his bag during lunch without him noticing a thing.

“So the day of the senior prank comes, and we managed to distract and steal the key to the announcements room from the janitor. And right before the first class change, I end up convincing the girl who was supposed to play the audio to go join the dance instead. I plug in the iPod, and loud gay sex audio starts playing through every speaker in the school at full volume. Katie thankfully programmed the song with a thirty second lag time in the beginning so I had time to get away. So after I played the audio, I locked the door and used a hammer to break the key off in the lock so that no one was be able to get into the room to turn off the music.”

Lance had barely breathed during this whole story, “No fucking way.”

Keith laughed, “Yeah, so they had to send everyone home because there was no way that they could teach school with gay porn shrieking through the speakers. And the popular kids who had been in charge of the senior prank were almost expelled for the incident.”

“I can totally see that happening, but at the same time I also can’t fucking believe it,” Lance laughed and smiled into the phone.

  


****

  


Keith hadn’t meant to call Lance. He really truly didn’t even think twice about dialing his number as he fumbled for the charger to his laptop. He had just spent too much time with Katie to know exactly what story she would tell Lance if he asked for an example of the trouble they got in during high school. And he really didn’t need anyone else knowing how he had gotten trapped on the roof of the school building naked in the middle of winter.

“Hello?” Lance’s voice was groggy and mumbled.

Keith fought a slight blush and the image of Lance with bed head and sleepy eyes as he answered, “Oh, sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Not really. I got a lot of sleep earlier today, all thanks to you, Keith.” Lance quipped, and Keith cringed at the mention of earlier today. He felt guilty for what had happened to Lance, but he would honestly do anything for Katie. If that meant drugging the cute Altean that had begun to speak with friendlier and friendlier tones, then so be it.

But thankfully the conversation flowed rather seamlessly after that. It was almost too easy to talk to Lance. He had explained the hijacked senior prank story from high school, and that was honestly one of their finer moments. Most of the time, their ideas got them into trouble when there wasn’t a convenient scapegoat.

He wanted to tell another story just to keep Lance on the line, to keep the conversation light and friendly. When was the last time he talked with someone like this? Of course there was Matt and all of the other members of Galra, but there was a difference between talking to members of his pseudo family and a newly found friend. Maybe friend wasn’t exactly the word he was looking for, but maybe it would be soon enough.

Keith exhaled deeply. He could still hear the small chuckles from Lance as he pictured the situation Keith had explained.

“Was it like vanilla gay porn?”

“Not even close! It was like some German Dungeon porn or some kinky ass shit at least.” Keith laughed again after taking a large sip from the glass of water he had poured himself. It had felt a little too intimate to talk to Lance from bed. He began to wander the apartment two minutes into the conversation. “I will never forget their screams.”

Lance laughed again, and Keith closed his eyes to listen to the sound. He had a nice laugh.

“But in all seriousness, Lance, please look out for Katie. She's determined to find out exactly what happened to her father, and I'm afraid she'll just needlessly endanger herself,” Keith sighed, running a hand through his hair. He hated the desperate tone to his voice.

There was a pause on the phone. A small exhale, “Of course Keith. She's my friend too.”

“Thank you.” Keith swallowed the tightness in his throat, “Seriously, thank you.” He didn't think he had the breath to describe how Katie was an integral part of his life. She was as much apart of his patched-together family as Shiro and Matt and Sam.

He could still remember the tremble to her shoulders and the silent tears as she stood in front of the closed casket. Matt stood straight backed and stone faced. Mrs. Holt was kneeling by the casket, placing a single lily on the lacquered wood. She whispered small words, voice ghosting over the small audience.

Shiro and Keith were the only two members of Galra to attend the funeral in order for the others to avoid suspicion if Sam was ever discovered as Galran. Shiro displayed the loss in the slump of his shoulders and the dark circles under his eyes. Keith had been waking up to Shiro’s soft padded footsteps pacing the hallway or the muffled screams of nightmares.

Keith had eventually dragged his lumpy mattress into Shiro’s room. Shiro had only raised an eyebrow at it. Keith didn't say anything since Shiro hadn't said anything about his nightmares. But when Shiro shook himself awake, covered in sweat and breathing frantically, Keith was awake at the side of his bed.

There was a permanent puffiness to their eyes since the news a week ago.

At the reception Keith had found Katie in the coat room of the small restaurant cradling herself in the corner. She had reduced herself to sobs and haggard breaths. Without a second thought, Keith was by her side and wrapping her in a tight hug.

He brushed wet hairs off of her face before she buried her face in his shoulder, “It's okay to cry,” Keith breathed, gently rubbing her back.

“But I don't want to cry anymore,” Her voice was cracking and weak, “Dad always hated it when Matt or I cried.” She dug chipped nails into Keith’s shirt.

“It's okay. I'm sure that he would make an exception.” Keith rested his cheek on top of Katie’s head, relaxing into the embrace. He sighed and allowed the memories of Sam he had been repressing to flow. With a small chuckle he shared one, “The last time I cried in front of Sam, he flicked me in the forehead.” Katie chuckled a wet laugh. “It was over the fact that I accidentally hit and killed a bird while Shiro was teaching me to drive, so I guess I deserved to be flicked.”

Katie pulled back to look at Keith’s face, checking if he was serious. There was this embarrassed tint to his cheeks, and she laughed at that. Her smile was wide and watery before her chin trembled and she bit her lip. Another tear dripped down her cheek.

“I remember one time when I was five and Matt taped my teddy bear to a bottle rocket,” she laughed and this was how the rest of the reception went. Keith and Katie cuddled in the small corner of the coat room, breathing in the saturated of scent moth balls and cologne. They shared stories of Sam, laughing and shedding tears.

Matt and Shiro finally found them, bringing small plates of appetizers and more stories. It was a tight fit in the small room, legs crossing and thighs pressing, but it was home. It was everything they needed.

Lance’s voice drew Keith from the memories, “Pidge may be a vindictive genius, but she's family.”

“Yeah,” Keith breathed.

“Well, thanks for the story. But I got to sleep.” There was a small yawn to Lance’s voice, “I was drugged today if you didn't know!” Lance's voice still had that playful quality that this whole conversation had. So friendly it made Keith's heart clench.

Keith chuckled, “That's rough, buddy. Good night.”

“Sweet dreams!”

  


****

  


It had been over a month until Lance saw Keith again.

And in that month, not a lot happened. He began seeing Matt more often which at first was really trippy because Pidge and Matt seriously looked like twins. If it wasn’t for the broader shoulders and rugged twist to Matt’s features, Lance would have gotten himself into a lot more trouble.

Pidge initially was so thirsty for information from Altea about her father that she barely left her apartment. Lance and Hunk had to keep coming over to force her to go to her college classes. They would drag her out by her computer charging cord. After two weeks, her vigor drained slightly as she gave into the sleep she had been depriving herself.

She became a little more life-like after that and finally began completing her Altean responsibilities. Before she had been avoiding Legendary like the plague. Even afterward Pidge couldn’t meet Allura’s eyes, and they seemed to avoid each other.

There was still tension in Allura’s and Takashi’s relationship. They were strained and fought much more often. Lance often saw Takashi sitting on the corner barstool, half empty pint of beer grasped in one hand. Grasped like a lifeline, so tightly and desperately it looked like it would shatter.

But there were good days, filled with smiles and laughter and nostalgia of the days before Keith harvested Harold’s organs. Of days far simpler than these.

Pidge brought him a cup of coffee, hazelnut with a couple of sugars stirred in. Lance took it in his hands. The weather was getting colder and the warm cup of coffee was welcomed. He took a large sip as Pidge settled on the couch next to him. She had come over to his place after her only class of the day.

Winding a fuzzy blanket around her shoulders, she pulled out her laptop, “That coffee is courtesy of Keith.”

Lance choked on the sip he was taking. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “What?”

Pidge raised a single eyebrow at him, “Yeah, I told you I was meeting up with him for coffee. Why do you think I went into Galra territory today?”

“To meet Matt? I don’t know?” Lance fumbled, looking once again at the cup of coffee in his hand.

“Well, yeah. It’s from Keith.” She tucked her legs underneath her, “He said something about it not having drugs in it this time.” She chuckled, before turning her full attention back to her laptop.

Lance picked at the cardboard drink cozy. He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Keith.

Lance: _so Pidge gave me this coffee she got from a strange emo man, and I think I’m starting to feel side effects_  
Lance: _I may have been roofied again TT ___  
Red: _ha. ha. ha._  
Red: _has anyone ever told you how hilarious you are?_  
Lance: _many people sing my praises ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯_  
Lance: _I wouldn’t mind another :P_  
Red: _uh huh. just enjoy the coffee Lance_  
Lance: _You saying that only makes me want to not enjoy it lol_  
Lance: _but thanks again, bad boy ;)_

He dropped his phone into his lap and continued watching his television show on his laptop. Pidge and Lance sat in comfortable silence for a while until Hunk stumbled through the door.

His large hands fumbled with the lock and the grin that was usually on his face was hardened and pained. Lance jumped to his feet just as Hunk had shut the door.

“You okay, dude? You don’t look so great?” Lance placed the back of his hand against Hunk’s forehead. “You do feel a little warm.”

Hunk stood straight and tried to wave Lance off as he kicked off his shoes by the door and hung his scarf and jacket on the coat rack. “I’m fine. I think it’s just a little -” Whatever Hunk had been about to say was cut off by loud, hacking coughs.

Pidge jumped off the couch and walked into the kitchen to start heating up some leftovers Hunk had made a couple nights ago. Lance didn’t say anything as he walked into the bathroom to grab some cold medicine. Hunk just staggered into his room.

Lance knocked on his roommate’s door to only hear a moan of confirmation that he could enter. Hunk was laying face-down on his bed, jeans exchanged for pajama pants. Lance padded into his room with the medicine and a small class of water. His roommate rolled over and sat up on the edge of his bed.

In the dim lighting of his room, he looked exhausted. There was a paleness to his normally warmed, tanned skin.

“Here,” Lance shoved the pills into Hunk’s hand, “Take these.”

Without complaint, Hunk took them before snuggling back into bed. “Will you wake me in two hours? I just want to take a quick nap before my shift.”

“What?” Lance snapped as he placed the glass of water on the bedside table, “You can’t work like this.”

Hunk was about to speak, finger held up in a way that showed an oncoming lecture. But he was cut off by another series of coughs. Lance raised an eyebrow. Hunk let his head nestle into the pillows, eyes closing but tone still the same.

“Who’s going to cover for me if I call in sick?”

“I will.”

Hunk opened a single eye took look at Lance, “Lance, it’s Friday night and the bar is going to be swamped. You’ve worked like, what, 3 shifts behind the bar?”

Lance crossed his arms and grumbled, “It’s not my fault Allura thought I was too flirty with customers.”

Pidge scoffed from the doorway before walking in with a small mug of soup and a spoon. Hunk slowly sat up and gently took the mug from her hands. He breathed in the steam before taking a spoonful.

“Don’t try to baby him, Hunk.” Pidge sat on the edge of the bed, swinging her feet, “He’ll do just fine.”

And with that Lance was showering and readying himself for his shift. Allura had texted him saying that Hunk had called in sick and that in order for him to work he needed to arrive an hour before Hunk’s normal time so they could have a review session.

Allura didn’t really have a dress code for bartenders, but Lance was hopeful that if he showed his professionalism he could possible get some hours. He would never say no to the opportunity for more cash. He dressed in a simple blue button down, rolling up the sleeves and leaving the top two buttons undone. A black vest and black dress pants completed the outfit.

He entered the bar only forty five minutes before Hunk’s shift. Allura hadn’t said anything about his outfit, berated him with an irritated glare, and led him through the most brutal review session he had ever attended.

When the bar opened for the night, he was already exhausted.

Takashi had been bartending in Pidge’s absence, but he wasn’t arriving until 9:30, right before the late night rush. The time before he arrived was a nice warmup for Lance. Unfortunately he had to look up way too many recipes on his phone underneath the bar.

The night was passing rather quickly, but once 10:30 hit, it was chaos. There was not an empty seat at the bar. The little dance area with flashing lights and large speakers was packed with people writhing to the beat.

He was making drinks and pouring beers and running cards and taking cash faster than he could think. He almost didn’t process the order yelled out by a good looking guy, “A rum and coke?”

Lance nodded and began to mix the drink, waiting a moment for the voice to register over the pounding of the base. His head snapped up to see a smirking Keith on the other side of the bar. He was wearing an unzipped leather jacket and smirk so large it seem to take up his entire face. The edge of his cropped shirt dragged over the bar, and Lance couldn’t help but imagine what he looked like from afar.

“What the _hell_ are you doing here?”

“Getting a drink?” Keith quipped, too confident and cocky for his own good. He held out his card with a fingerless glove clad hand.

This was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the senior prank idea was actually based off of my senior prank - yeah, a group of the "popular kids" did the Harlem Shake during homeroom. And yes, it was as lame and cringy as it sounds.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments mean the absolute world to me! <3
> 
> Hit me up on my voltron [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!


	3. Sparks and Fuel and Ash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading my fic! I was so thankful for the positive response I got on the last two chapters!!
> 
> I added a tag for this chapter of some season 3 spoilers, so just a heads up for anyone who hasn't watched yet!
> 
> Special thank you to everyone who gave kudos and comments <3

Lance looked good. Almost better than good. His smile was wide if not a little frantic, and the black vest he was in enunciated his broad shoulders, and his blue button down brought out his eyes.

Keith knew that he shouldn’t have come to Legendary tonight for multiple reasons, Lance being one of them. But here he was, leaning over the bar, card extended and smiling at Lance. The Altean’s face was pure surprise upon seeing Keith there. And some repressed part of Keith made him want to see more of that expression, to keep surprising Lance, making those eyes go wide and lips pop open.

“What the _hell_ are you doing here?” Lance yelped over the blaring music.

Keith smiled devilishly, “Getting a drink?” The bar was a cool press against his exposed stomach as his croptop flowed over the top of the bar.

He watched Lance fumble with a drink, seeing the large build of Shiro on the other side of the bar. Sighing, he thought over exactly what had brought him to Legendary, and it started with getting coffee with Katie early that morning.

She had texted him about meeting at a coffee shop near Paladin Park. It was in Galra territory but close enough to the neutral zone that she wouldn’t have to worry too much. Keith had arrived early, ordered earl grey for himself and a triple shot dirty chai for Katie.

A half an hour late, she bounded into the door with a smile.

“Your drink’s cold,” Keith mumbled not looking up from his phone and taking another small sip from his cup.

She shrugged, plopped in the seat at their small table by the window, and took a small sip from the no longer steaming mug.

“So why did you want to meet?” Keith set down his phone and looked at her directly.

“Can’t old friends just get together to hang out?” She asked, mischievous smile hidden behind her mug. Keith raised a single eyebrow. “Okay, okay. I need information.”

Keith leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms, “Can’t you get that yourself?”

“It’s about my dad.” Katie whispered. Keith tensed at the thought, fingers digging into his biceps. He leaned forward onto the table, and nodded for her to continue, “There’s only so much information I can get out of Altea. I know that the meeting was between some members of Altea and Galra who wanted peace between the two groups. But even Allura doesn’t know who would meet with the Galra, and no one is willing to step forward and face her wrath.”

“It was Ulaz and Sam from Galra,” Keith breathed, rubbing at his temples. The memories were blaring, loud and surrounded by feelings that tugged at his heart and squeezed the air from his lungs.

Katie took another small sip, “You said that you would ask Thace about the meetings.”

Keith paused, “I can try. But I honestly don’t know how dangerous it would be.”

“Dangerous?” Katie paused, fingers tensing over the mug, “What’s happening with Galra?”

Keith pondered what he could say. Could he tell her everything?

How Zarkon hadn’t directly managed the gang for the last year and everyone suspected he was sick, withdrawn and on the edge of death. Lotor’s influence became stronger every day, but where Zarkon was satisfied with the customers they had and the business methods and ventures they already established, Lotor was not. He was determined to build something greater on what his father built on the bones of his enemies.

There were more frequent meetings in the old, refurbished warehouse. All higher leveled Galra members were gathered, making the room hot and sweaty despite the bitter cold outside. Lotor walked around the room and explained how they were going to expand business. And how he was preparing to take out Altea once and for all.

Keith shook his head, “Nothing.”

“Nothing you can talk about?” Katie prodded.

“So, you want to me to talk to Thace about all of this?” Keith snapped, redirecting the conversation.

“Yes,” She admitted, “But don’t endanger yourself. I’ll find another way if I have to.” Keith nodded, and Katie took another sip of her drink.

Keith sighed, “Can I ask for a favor?”

“Depends on what it is.”

“Can I have Shiro’s number?” Keith asked, rushed and halfway panicked. He cursed himself and attempted to steady his hands, “He changed his number and the last time I saw him things weren’t really civil.”

Katie shrugged, “Ask him yourself.”

“What? I’m just supposed to waltz into Legendary and ask the bartender for his number?” Keith asked her. She smiled wickedly, gaze fixated and unmoving. “Allura would literally kill me on sight.”

“Matt’s coming,” And that was all she said as if that was a convincing argument. But Keith’s hands twitched against his thighs. He needed to talk to Shiro, needed it to be in person because Katie wasn’t the only one who could hack phone records. And if this was his only chance, well he was going to fucking take it.

“Fine.” Keith growled.

Katie smiled and took another sip of her latte only to grimace. “This is really bad cold.” And Keith laughed.

So here he was, dressed up and standing at a bar, abandoned by Matt in the throng of people. Lance pushed a plastic cup over to Keith after shoving in two tiny black straws.

“You shouldn’t be here, Keith,” Lance warned as quietly as possible over the thrum of the music. “If Allura -”

“Red?” The voice was sharp behind him.

“Fuck,” Keith whispered, chugging his entire rum and coke before turning around to look directly into Allura’s piercing gaze. She was almost towering over him, sharp heels tapping against the floor with impatience. “Hi, Allura.” Keith smiled weakly.

Without warning she slapped him across the face. Her rings dug into his skin, threatening to bruise and tear. His head snapped to the side, and his hands grabbed the bar behind him for stability. He felt a small trickle of blood leak from the corner of his lips.

But there was nothing he could do. He had willing walked into Altean territory, into their home base. If he upset her, he may never leave the bar. Or if he did leave, it would be broken and beaten. Or worse. They could make him a drug mule. Get him addicted. Lace his food or drinks with it. Make him compliant and easy to use. An advantage, a spy for the Alteans high in Galra command.

Allura wiped the back of her hand on her skintight jeans like Keith was a vile creature she could barely believe she touched. “Explain why the fuck you’re here?”

“I needed to talk to Shiro,” Keith answered, slowly turning his head to face her again. His gaze never left her eyes, and he watched the sudden shock widen them. She curled her hands into fists, and Keith noted the new stiff body language she exhibited. It was obvious that they hadn’t straightened out Shiro’s Galran past.

She pushed closer to him. Her hands grabbed the edge of the bar, arms bracketing him in and pushing his back painfully against the bar. She pushed a firm thigh between his. Her hair tickled his face as she leaned forward. She had completely pinned him down, and Keith could feel the sharp press of a knife in her pocket against his hip bone.

Her voice was barely audible above the music. “You must have been desperate to come here,” She purred as if Keith had delivered himself a slave for her enjoyment.

And Keith shivered. Because she didn’t understand how desperate he was.

  


****

  


Lance watched as Allura pinned Keith against the bar. He felt the bottle of vodka slide from his fingers and clatter against the bar. The drink he had been making splattered along the floor and across his shoes.

“Lance!” Takashi reprimanded, quickly picking up the leaking bottle. “What’s got you so -” And Takashi’s voice cut off, eyes following Lance’s gaze.

Allura draped herself over Keith. Bare shoulder pressing into his neck and lips pressed against his ear. Her wild hair covered his face. And there was a deadly, daring smirk on her lips that sent a shiver down Lance’s spine.

Her eyes darted up and met Takashi’s. She pulled back immediately, and Lance watched Keith’s shoulders visibly relax. Allura trailed a single hand along Keith’s jaw before striding away. She walked around the length of the bar, eyes fixated solely on Takashi.

She pushed into the employee lounge, letting the door slam behind her, lost in the vibrant sounds of the bar.

“Lance,” Keith sighed, turning around and pushing his card forward again, “Can I have a shot?”

Lance leaned forward, placing his hands on the bar, “What do you want?”

“Anything as long as it’s strong.”

Lance shook his head and grabbed a bottle off the shelf. He poured a shot and pushed it towards Keith. Keith shoved the card at him, but Lance easily pushed it back, “It’s on the house,” Lance waved toward where Keith was standing, “After all that.”

Keith shrugged his shoulders and shoved his card back into his pocket before taking the shot and slamming the glass back on the bar.

“Lance,” Takashi’s whisper was heavy in Lance’s ear. Lance turned to see him, face concerned and contorted, “I need to take a break, okay? Can you watch the bar?”

And before Lance could even nod, Takashi threw a towel down on the bar and marched into the employee’s lounge. But no, Lance could not man this bar. Not even with that rushed review course Allura had given him.

“Shit,” Lance growled, stepping away from Keith so that he could man the entire bar. Keith’s hand was so warm as it latched onto his wrist. “What?” Lance snapped, and felt bad about it the minute he was Keith’s face.

“Do you need help?” Keith shouted, “I can go get Katie.”

Lance nodded his head, “Yes, please!” And he pulled himself out of Keith’s grasp. Several people tried to shout orders at him. He fumbled with cards and poured too much alcohol or too little. Pushing the drinks across the bar or shoving in straws or cherries, he splattered the expensive drinks, but didn’t think twice about it.

A warm body brushed against him, reaching for a bottle of vodka on the shelf. He turned, “Pidge, thank god you’re here!”

But stormy grey eyes met his. Keith shrugged, “Katie already left with Matt for late night waffles. And when I texted her she just sent me an audio message of her laughing.”

“Do you even know how to bartend?!” Lance shrieked.

Keith just kind of shrugged and didn’t meet Lance’s eyes. “Uh, yeah. Definitely. I’ve like taken a class or something.” He scratched the back of his neck, and Lance watched him with an unamused expression. He raised a single eyebrow, and Keith sighed, shoulders slumping, “Okay, I have absolutely no idea. But I thought I could learn on the fly. Just teach me the easy drinks or something, okay?”

Lance pinched the bridge of his nose, turning back to the bar. This was a horrible idea.

Three cards were shoved in his direction. He cursed under his breath, reached back and grabbed Keith’s hand. He pulled him to his side, “Okay, you deal with beer orders.”

Keith nodded solemnly, walking up and down the bar with a small smile on his face. Lance tried not to watch him out of the corner of his eye, but there was a new air about Keith. Even with a bruising face, he was still attractive, devilishly so.

A guy pushed a card at Keith right next to Lance, and he reached out to take it, but a fingerless gloved hand took it instead, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a beer?” Keith purred and Lance felt a shiver slither along his spine. Keith effortlessly twirled the card between his fingers, bottom of his shirt drifting over the bar.

“I don’t really -”

“Oh no, it’s okay. I was just thinking you had good taste,” Keith winked and bit his lip. Lance swallowed and tried not to let his hand shake tequila all over the bar.

The guy shook his head, “No, you’re right. A beer sounds good.” Keith smiled a thousand watt smile that burned with mischief and lust. Keith turned around and bent to a small fridge underneath the bar to pick up a beer.

Lance hissed in his ear the second he stood up, “How did you do that?”

“You’re the one with the silver tongue, Blue. You could get anyone at this bar to buy whatever you wanted if you just tried,” Keith winked, popped open the beer and handed it to the man who had begun to watch him with a strange twinge of desire.

This was going to be a long night.

“Oh my god, how long can Takashi and Allura talk?” Lance complained, swiping another card. The activity at the bar was finally beginning to slow as 1:00am passed, leaving only another two hours until closing. The dance floor was less crowded and there was actually elbow room at the bar.

Keith snickered and mumbled something. Lance leaned closer so that he could hear what Keith had to say, “You’ve never been lectured by Shiro before have you?” Lance was going to debate that fact when Keith’s face darkened, “I need to talk to him. Do you mind if I leave you alone for a little?”

“Of course,” Lance placed a hand on Keith’s shoulder. Keith’s breath stuttered as his eyes jumped to Lance’s, “Honestly, thanks for your help. I don’t know how I would’ve survived without you.” Keith nodded, pulling out of Lance’s grip and pushing through the employee lounge door before Lance could say any word of warning.

“Shit,” He growled, dragging a hand along his face and stuffing tip money into his pocket.

  


****

  


Keith entered as silently as possible, but even so Shiro and Allura were too engrossed in their fight to notice him.

“Then why is he here, Takashi?” Allura snarled, hands waving with anger.

Shiro had his arms crossed, clearly defensive. He clenched his jaw and enunciated each word, “I already told you, Allura. I don’t know. Why didn’t you ask him before you slapped him across the face and practically dry humped him.”

“What are you more angry about?” Allura’s face was smug, tiling her chin up higher, “Me slapping your little Galra dog or flaunting the body I haven’t let you touch in weeks?”

“Allura,” Shiro’s voice was a barely contained growl. “Do not _ever_ address Keith like that in front of me again.” She stiffened, clearly taken aback by his tone. Keith would have been surprised as well if he hadn’t heard Shiro speak like that with other members of Galra at times. Thankfully it had never been directed at him.

Shiro took several steps forward, pressing Allura against the wall and boxing her in with his arms. He sighed and the tension in his jaw decreased. His tone softened, “I’m sorry I was jealous. I just -- I’ve just missed you, but I don’t want to push you. I understand if you don’t want me anymore after knowing everything I’ve done.”

Keith suddenly wanted to leave. Wished that he had never come in here, that he could just vanish through the wall, in a puff of smoke. This felt too personal, like he was invading. He knew that he should say something or turn around and walk out of the room before anything more was said. But he couldn’t move.

She placed a gentle hand on his cheek, “Takashi --”

“No!” He snapped, dropping his chin to his chest and stepping backward, “God, it still haunts me. I can hear her screams, and sometimes I see her in crowds. But I had to get out of there. It didn’t matter what I did!” He was crying now, tears rolling down his cheeks, and Keith took a stumbling step backward, leaning against the door for support.

“So when Lotor said that we needed a child’s heart, I fucking got it for him!” Shiro screamed, tears clouding his eyes and traveling over his cheeks and scar. Allura placed a hand over her mouth, shaking her head slowly. Shiro punched the wall far from Allura but she still jumped.

Keith’s eyes went wide. His heart faltered in his chest. “What the fuck,” He breathed and Shiro’s head whipped around to look at him.

Even with the music blaring through the door behind him, he still heard the knife whistle through the air before it thudded deep into the wood beside his ear. Allura stood arm extended, tears still dotting her cheeks and scowl across her face.

“Keith,” Shiro whispered, stepping forward, blocking Allura from his view. “Keith, you have to understand that --”

“Was being a member Galra so bad that you had to fucking hand deliver a child to Lotor?” Keith growled, stepping away from the door and marching towards Shiro. “That was the price you paid to leave? Fucking _murdering_ a child?!” He was breathing ragged, and Shiro had stopped moving, horror paling his skin and widening his eyes. Keith gasped, “Oh my god, it was the Mayor’s daughter, wasn’t it? That’s who the heart was for!”

Keith shook his head, digging his hands into his hair. “We’re supposed to be better than this!” Keith screamed, “You’re supposed to be better than all of this. We aren’t fucking Alteans.”

“What did you say, you filthy --” Allura began, pushing Shiro to the side.

Keith yanked the knife out of the wooden door behind him. He held it forward, pointing at Allura, “You shut the fuck up! I know how you operate. How you get teenagers addicted. How you mix in more addictive and expensive drugs. How you bankrupt families and kill and don’t even honor your dead!” Keith’s gaze darted to Shiro, “But we’re supposed to be better than that.”

Keith stumbled backward until his shoulders hit the wall. He leaned against it, breath rapid and shallow as his vision darkened on the edges.

“But with Lotor --”

“What about him?” Shiro growled, marching forward and ripping the knife out of Keith’s hand with little resistance.

Keith shook his head, unable to look at Shiro, to see the scar across his nose and worn look to his eyes. “Why else do you think I’m here? I need to talk to you.”

“Then talk.” Shiro commanded, crossing his arms.

“I won’t talk about Galra with the beast of Altea in the same room,” Keith huffed, still unable to look Shiro in the eye. He wanted to slip out into the crowd of the bar, lose himself in the music, in the small buzz of alcohol in his veins. But instead he was facing Shiro and the small bags under his eyes that denoted the continued haunting of his dreams.

Allura scoffed, but Shiro turned on the ball of his feet, “Please Allura. I know that you --”

She cut him off with the wave of her hand, “Save it, Takashi. We’ll finish our conversation later.” Her heels pounded into the floor as she marched out of the room. Keith was still partially resting on the door, and she flung him off balance when she swung it open.

Keith watched her leave, turning back to see the ache in Shiro’s eyes, “You left because of her, didn’t you?”

Shiro didn’t have to say anything before Keith shook his head and marched to the farthest couch from Shiro. “Un-fucking-believable.” He didn’t know how to vocalize the way his heart crumbed like sand through his fingers. He didn’t know if he wanted to.

  


****

  


“Lance!” Allura’s voice cut through the music and shouted conversations. He turned on the ball of his foot to see her come behind the bar. She pulled the front of his shirt and drew him in close. Her breath was hot against his ear as she whispered harshly, “You’re close with Red, right?”

Lance didn’t know how to answer. How did he define his and Keith’s relationship of strained mutual trust and rare moments of friendship? But she didn’t wait for his answer, just kept hissing in his ear.

“Well, you’re going to milk him for every last drop of information he has on Galra.”

Lance pulled back out of her grip, horrified and a little terrified at the bloodlust in her gaze. “I couldn’t do that to --”

“This is an order, Lance McClain,” Allura pushed forward, grabbing onto the collar of his vest, “You will obey it or I will put you down in the treasury and make your life a fucking living hell.”

“Yes, princess.” Lance nodded stiffly. He watched her smile, devilish and excited as she bounced away. She stopped, pulled a beer out of the small fridge beneath the bar, chugged it, and made her way to the dance floor. There were barely any people left, it nearing 1:30am, but there were still enough for him to lose sight of her in the undulating bodies and lights.

Not even 10 minutes later, Keith came bursting out of the employee lounge screaming, “No! I don’t want to hear anymore, Shiro!” Takashi followed him, standing in the doorway, looking exhausted and absolutely helpless.

Keith slammed a palm on the bar in front of Lance, “Give me anything. It doesn’t matter what it is as long as it’ll fuck me up.”

“Keith,” Lance breathed. He gazed into Keith’s face and realized his eyes were red rimmed from tears, and he didn’t say anything more. He would have mixed one of those fruity drinks that Allura liked on a bad night, but he didn’t know how to make them. So he made the only drink Pidge had taught him to make. He pushed the tall blue glass to Keith, and without even asking what it was he chugged half of it.

“Whoa,” Lance placed a steadying hand on Keith’s arm, “Slow down. Have you ever had an AMF? It’s called Adios Motherfucker for a reason.”

Keith ripped his hand away from Lance’s grip and chugged the remainder of the drink. His eyes were unsteady as he placed the glass down. Takashi was suddenly next to Lance behind the bar.

“Keith,” Takashi whispered, grabbing hold of Keith’s arm. Lance stood in the middle of this crowded bar like he was the only bystander to this scene. Keith’s chin trembled. He didn’t even attempt to pull his arm from Takashi’s grasp.

“Lance, can I get another?” Keith pushed the drink toward Lance with the tips of his fingers. Lance picked up a new glass, wanting to be distracted from the scene before him.

“Fine,” Lance heard Takashi growl behind him as he pulled down a bottle of well rum. His voice was so close to a reprimanding, fatherly tone, “We _will_ talk about this later. Get my number from Lance, or someone else, I don’t really care.” He dropped Keith’s hand back to the bar and stormed off toward the door to leave.

Keith placed his head in his hands and it was the first time Lance noticed his Galra tattoo. Different from the blue ‘v’ marking his wrist denoting him as Altean, Keith’s was in the inside of his wrist, barely the size of a quarter. It was purple and shaped like an overcomplicated ‘x.’

Lance pushed the drink to Keith, holding onto it when Keith reached for it, “Drink it slowly this time, because I will not be taking care of your drunk ass.”

Taking a small sip, Keith grumbled, “My ride already left.” Lance rolled his eyes and walked down the length of the bar, getting distracted by several other drink orders.

Twenty minutes later, it was just past 2:00am and the crowd had thinned even more. Lance could walk the bar without behind forced to take cards and make drinks. The dance floor had thinned to a group of really drunk girls, dancing and laughing and singing loudly to their heart’s content. And then there was Keith, still nursing the drink Lance had given him. But there was the guy, burly and bearded sitting next to him playing with the beer can Keith had convinced him to buy hours ago.

Keith seemed completely absorbed in his own thoughts, unaware of the predatory stare the man was giving him. But there was only so much Lance could do from behind the bar. One of the girls from the dance floor came floating over, a glimmer of sweat over her tanned skin. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a tight bun and some of her blue eyeliner had smudged.

“Nyma,” Lance smiled, leaning onto the bar. “What can I get you?”

“Just a glass of water, please?” She fanned herself, leaning against the bar and rolling out her ankles. Lance nodded and filled a glass halfway with ice and then water.

He handed it to her, and she took it gratefully, “Can I ask for a small favor?”

“Depends on what it is,” She commented, eyes dancing around the bar as she chewed on her straw.

“Can you go talk to Keith, the guy over there in the leather jacket and crop top?” Lance leaned forward so that the music would distort his words before any other patrons at the bar could hear him, “The guy with the beard has been watching him creepily all night.”

Nyma shrugged, “Why should I?”

“I just said he was creepy and --”

“No, I mean this Keith guy is totally gay.” Nyma shrugged, “But it’s really no problem, I guess.” And she strode forward.

Lance felt his heart flutter slightly. He hadn’t ever thought about Keith’s sexuality, mostly because he always tried to avoid thinking about the Galran like that. But even Nyma just mentioning it made his heart swell. He tapped on his chest, unaware if he liked the feeling.

He walked the distance of the bar, watching the early tension of their conversation melt into something comfortable and familiar. Keith finished his drink and waved Lance over. His smile was lopsided and his lids heavy.

“Can I get another one of these, Lance?” Keith purred, pushing the glass of swirling ice cubes toward Lance.

Lance shook his head, “You’re drunk, Keith. I can’t in good --”

Keith’s eyes brightened, his shoulders straightened, and it was like every ounce of alcohol had vanished from his bloodstream. His eyes were alert as he leaned forward, “Come on, don’t make me so _blue_.” His smile was shit eating as Nyma laughed beside him.

Lance rolled his eyes and made sure to make this drink weaker than the others even as Keith watched him with heavy precision.

  


****

  


Lance pushed him his drink and he smiled. The buzz in his mind only dimmed the frantic internal screaming. There was also the warning Nyma had pressed into the meat of his thigh when she had walked over. He had stiffened seeing a face he had grown up with walk over to him so confidently chewing on the end of a straw.

“Hi, my name’s Nyma. Lance wanted me to come talk to you.” She smirked and whispered in his ear, “The guy behind you supposedly has creepy eyes for you. Or maybe Lance is just jealous.” She giggled at the small blush on Keith’s cheeks.

“Oh, sorry. One second.” She pulled her phone out of the small silver shoulder bag and typed out a quick message. Tucking her phone back in the purse, Keith felt his pocket vibrate. He pulled out his phone, any reason to not slip into all too easy conversation with Nyma.

Bounty Hunter: _If you blow my cover, I will have Rolo find you and kill you, Red._

Keith chuckled and shoved his phone back into his pocket. “So Lance, huh?” Keith smiled, leaning against the bar swirling the ice in his finished drink.

“Yeah,” She giggled, “I have a theory that after you sent those flowers, he’s been totally gay for you.”

And they settled into easy conversation. With a new drink in hand, Keith sipped greedily at it. Nyma smirked at him, leaning forward so her chest brushed his with each inhale, “Are you trying to get so drunk Lance has to take you home?”

Keith choked on the sip he was taking, pulling back from Nyma. His mind was hazy as he watched her chuckle and sweep a finger over his blushing cheeks. He wanted to form any reply to what she said, but his mind had already wandered off, picturing Lance taking him home.

Lance offering pajamas, too long for Keith’s compact form. Lance peacefully sleeping, nestled into sheets, expression more serene than the slightly tortured one he had in Keith’s kitchen. Heavy hands on his body, pushing and pulling and directing him. That firm voice, bossy and purring and telling him all of the things they could do. Soft lips exploring.

Keith closed his eyes, letting his head loll to his shoulder, a smile lustful smile on his face. Imaging the feel of lips along his pulse, pulling his heartbeat into frantic waves of desire.

Nyma’s laugh drew him out of his thoughts, head snapping up too quickly and making the room spin more than it already was. How had she gotten so far away from him? She was seated rightfully on her own chair. Wasn’t she just close enough to him that he could feel the heat radiating from the body and tinting his air with the scent of shampoo and over sprayed perfume? She held a hand in front of her face, and Keith had to focus on her with all of his might or else she drifted out of focus.

“Sorry, if I had known you were so deprived, I wouldn’t have teased you,” Nyma giggled, reaching to take what was left of Keith’s drink. He grabbed the straw with his teeth and chugged the rest before Nyma could get her hands on the condensation covered glass. Nyma’s eyes widened before she leaned in, “Red,” and the name seemed to shake something within Keith, made him straighten and more alert, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Keith placed his head on her shoulder, one hand gripping the bar and the other grabbing her bicep for balance. His voice was weak, “I don’t know, Nyma. I just don’t know anymore.”

She shushed him lightly and brushed a single hand through his hair.

  


****

  


Lance was beginning to clean the bar when the wave of Nyma’s hand caught his attention. He looked up and saw Keith leaning forward, practically hugging her. There was a strange contraction of his heart that he ignored as he walked over.

“What’s going on?”

Nyma shook her head, and up this close Lance could see the slight tremble of Keith’s shoulders. Without thinking, Lance poured a glass of water and pushed it across the bar, unaware of what else he could do in this situation. The bar didn’t close for another twenty minutes, and he still had to clean up after his shift.

Lance opened his mouth about to ask if Nyma could take him home, but there was no way that he could send Nyma deep into Galra territory in the middle of the night. She had only been a member of Altean for a couple of months and wasn’t really aware of the consequences the action could have.

A man stood up from a bar stool. He was the bearded guy, burly and well muscled. His eyes were predatory as he placed a gentle hand on Keith’s shoulder, “I’ll call him a cab.”

Keith shrunk away from the touch, nuzzling his face deeper into Nyma’s neck. Lance could barely hear his mumbled words under the volume of the music. Nyma’s grip tightened around Keith’s back.

“No, he’s fine. Thank you.” Nyma cut the man off curtly.

The man seemed to bristle at her tone and her denial, as he if needed permission.

“It’s really no trouble at all,” The man countered, rubbing small circles along Keith’s back. Keith stiffened, slowly pulling his head off Nyma’s shoulder. Lance fumbled for something to say, because he wasn’t sure if he could just stand here and watch Keith walk off with someone.

There were tears on Keith’s cheeks that glistened in the lights of the bar. He fumbled for Nyma’s empty glass, swiveled on the barstool and smashed it across the guy’s face. The man cursed, grabbed at his cut cheek.

With agility a drunk person should not have, Keith tripped him. The man went spiraling to the ground of cracked glass. Keith still gripped the shattered bottom of the glass. He slammed his foot down on the man’s sternum. Leaning down, he hissed, “If you touch me again fucker, I will fucking murder you.” His words were a slur of violent threats. He threw the remains of the glass to the floor beside the man’s head.

He stumbled toward the bathroom without saying another word.

It wasn’t as if the music had stuttered to a stop, but all movement in the bar ceased. And Lance couldn’t fucking take this anymore. “Nope. Nope. Fuck this!” Lance yelled, jumping over the bar to the music player Pidge had set up in a small supply closet. He stopped the music. “Thank you for coming everyone, but Legendary is now closed. Have a good night!”

There was confused conversation as the last people exited the bar. Nyma sat at the bar, typing on her phone and ignoring the man slowly getting to his feet beneath her.

He stood, face dripping blood onto his tee-shirt. “I’m going to fucking sue that guy. Where is he?” He screamed, slamming his hands down on the bar. Lance sighed walking around the man to get behind the bar.

“Yeah, good luck suing a member of Galra.” Lance mumbled under his breath, not realizing that the ringing in his ears was audible because the music was no longer playing.

“Galra?” The guy gasped, fumbling backward. He looked between Lance and Nyma, at the hard set of their jaws and the merciless quality of their eyes. And without another word, he left the bar.

Lance put his head down on the bar, “Allura is going to fucking kill me.”

Nyma laughed, lightly patting Lance’s head, “Keith first. Then you.” She shoved her phone back into her purse. Carefully she stepped around the broken pieces of glass, “Well, I would help you clean up, but it isn’t really my job and you already asked for a favor tonight.”

“Nyma,” Lance pleaded, watching her walk toward the door, “Nyma, please.”

“Goodnight, Lance.” She winked and the door chimed as it swung shut.

Lance slammed a hand against the bar, and screamed until his ears echoed with it, “Fuck!”

  


****

  


There were no thoughts spared for how disgusting these toilets were as his hands laid on the seat. His head swam as he rested it against the stall wall, threads of saliva dripping from his lips. He tried to sit up and his stomach roiled again.

He threw up in the toilet. Again.

  


****

  


He pushed through the bathroom door after cleaning up the broken glass. The sounds of Keith retching echoed in the tiled bathroom. “Keith,” Lance called, letting the door shut quietly behind him. There was a small moan from the first stall.

Lance knocked on the door, “Hey man, you have to open the door for me, okay?” There was another groan. “Keith open the damn door.” Then Lance watched under the stall as Keith stumbled to his feet. Suddenly there was a loud slam against the stall wall and the metal shuttered.

Keith pulled the door open, leaning against it for balance. Balance that quickly disintegrated into Lance catching him before he slammed into the unforgiving tile floor. “Whoa, I got you. I got you.” Lance held Keith under the armpits. Keith sighed and rubbed his vomit and spit covered lips on Lance’s chest.

Lance tilted his head to the ceiling, “Oh my fucking god.”

“Lance,” Keith groaned, hands fumbling for purchase on Lance’s shirt.

“Yep, I’m here buddy.” Lance straightened Keith and looked him in the eye, “Do you think you’re done puking?” Keith shook his head with a small moan, before opening his mouth. Lance quickly jumped away, directing Keith towards the toilet. The Galran dropped to his knees and threw up again.

Lance sighed, exited the bathroom and grabbed a cup of water from behind the bar. He dialed Pidge and held the phone to his ear as he forced Keith to drink the water. She picked up after three rings.

“What Lance?”

“Please come help. Keith is vomiting in the bathroom, and I’m normally the drunk person so I really don’t know how to do this or how to get him home.” Lance’s voice was threadbare and on the verge of begging.

Pidge sighed, “Oh shit. What happened?”

“What do you mean what fucking happened? He chugged like three AMFs.” Lance shouted, eyeing Keith to see if the boy was even registering the conversation. Keith’s eyes were glassy as he played with the straw with his tongue.

“No, I mean what happened with Takashi?” Pidge explained, a new kind of worry coloring her voice. Lance fumbled for a response, but he was distracted by Keith almost missing the toilet as he threw up again. He flushed the toilet as soon as the Galran leaned back against the stall wall. “Shit,” Pidge cursed under her breath, “He only drinks like that when he’s trying to avoid something.”

Keith’s eyes rolled to Lance, and he smiled widely and almost playfully, “Is that Katie?” He slurred reaching a hand for the phone. The hand was wet with saliva and touched Lance’s cheek. He swallowed back the vomit crawling up this throat as he pulled the phone away from his face and put Pidge on speaker.

“Keith,” Her voice was echoey and tinny in the empty bathroom.

“Katie,” Keith whimpered, leaning back against the stall wall. “I’m scared.”

Her small gasp was amplified in the acoustics. Lance bit his lip, looking at the vulnerability on Keith’s face, “It’s okay Keith. Lance is with you, right? He’ll keep you safe.”

“But he can’t keep me safe from Lotor.” Keith mumbled, eyes rolling back and closing.

“What’s going on with Lotor?” Pidge ground out. Lance wanted to tell her to stop, that he didn’t want to hear all of this information. That he didn’t want to have to Allura all of this, tell her that Keith spilled his deepest fears along with the contents of his stomach in the Legendary bathroom.

Keith just made a small moan in the back of his throat, “Can I go home?” He had already changed topics, mind moving too fast or two slow, dragged by the whispering fingers of alcohol in his blood. “I want to go home.”

Lance took Pidge off speaker phone, “Can Matt come pick him up or something?”

“Shit. No. Matt locked his keys in his car after we got back to his place after eating waffles. We were waiting until tomorrow morning to call someone to get them out.” Pidge cursed, and Lance could hear the sound of her pacing through the phone.

“It’s fine. I’ll just take him home.”

“You can’t take him back through Galra territory, Lance. You’ll be too easily noticeable with the Galra’s golden boy drunk and slung over your shoulder.”

Lance sighed, rubbing at his temples, “I’m not an idiot, Pidge. I was going to make him to my home.”

“Oh, Hunk is not going to like that.”

“Well, it’s not like I have much of a fucking choice,” Lance snapped. He exhaled deeply before continuing, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just been a long night. I’ll make sure Keith texts you in the morning.”

And Lance hung up before Pidge could say anything else. Lance wrapped his arms underneath Keith’s armpits, dragging him to his feet. “Come on, Keith. You’ve gotta help me here.” Keith found his footing, swaying into Lance.

Thankfully, Lance only lived a couple blocks from Legendary, but it was the longest couple blocks ever. Keith kept stumbling and throwing all of his weight on Lance. He swerved and stumbled, and they had to stop at least three times so that Keith could throw up. First in a trash can, second in an alley, and third next to a fire hydrant.

Lance unlocked his door at an ungodly 3:00am and brought the stumbling Keith into his room. It seemed that Keith was beginning to sober up. Barely.

The Galran collapsed on Lance’s couch. There was a small whine, “Water?”

“Sure, buddy.” Lance walked into the kitchen only to come rushing out to the sound of shouts and loud thuds.

Water splashed all over Lance’s hand as he stopped in the threshold of the living room. Hunk was standing over Keith, fists poised ready to fight. Hunk was shirtless, pajama pants riding low on his hips. He was breathing heavy, eyes only flickering to Lance for a second.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Hunk’s anger was directed at Keith who was sprawled on the ground between Hunk’s legs.

Keith opened his mouth as if he couldn’t get it to work for a second. He didn’t even respond just pointed at Lance. Hunk’s gaze shot to Lance’s for some kind of explanation why Galra’s golden boy was laying on their floor, drunk and smelling of alcohol, vomit, and Legendary.

“Please just don’t even ask. It’s been a really, _really_ long night.” Lance complained, walking over to Keith. He helped him sit up. Hunk took several steps backward, still tensed and ready. Lance gave Keith the glass of water and instructed him to drink.

Hunk grabbed Lance by the arm, pulling him close, but still watching Keith out of the corner of his eye, “Do you really think it’s a good idea to bring the Galra’s golden boy to our apartment?”

“No, but I really didn’t have a damn choice.” Lance growled, looking over at Keith. He watched the boy struggle to take off his leather jacket. “I just -- I’m going to bed.”

Lance helped Keith pull of his leather jacket and helped him onto the couch. He placed the glass of water on the coffee table and draped a blanket over him. “The bathroom is right over there,” Lance pointed, but Keith was already closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

“He’s going to throw up on the carpets, isn’t he?” Hunk asked, still standing in his doorway.

“Probably,” Lance groaned, walking into his room and leaving the door open a crack. He changed into pajama pants, throwing his spit stained dress shirt and vest into the laundry.

He had just settled into bed when his door creaked open. Keith stood there silhouetted by the soft lights of the living room. He was still clad in his crop top and tight jeans. With lazy footsteps he walked into the room, yawning and rubbing at his eyes.

Without warning, he pulled back the blankets and crawled into bed beside Lance.

“What the hell are you doing?” Lance hissed, rolling to the far side of his bed. The wall was a cold press on his heated skin.

Keith flopped onto the mattress, “The couch is uncomfortable.”

“So you’re just going to take my bed?” Lance crawled closer to Keith. He poked at the firm back that faced him, only eliciting an irritated groan in response. “Fine, I guess. As long as you just fucking go to sleep,” Lance huffed and flipped over so that he was facing the wall.

Keith’s back seemed to radiate heat. And if Lance inhaled deeply enough, he could barely feel the touch of Keith’s crop top brush his skin. He was all too aware of Keith in his bed. Keith. The Galra’s golden boy. The boy he had witnessed harvesting Harold’s organs. The boy who had every opportunity to hurt him, yet didn’t. The boy who was raised to draw blood with every word that had called him and shared comforting and funny stories in the hush of night.

Lance never thought he was going to be able to fall asleep. But the exhaustion of the night pulled his body into slumber.

  


****

  


Keith woke to the press of skin against his back. The tightness of arms around his waist. The steadiness of hot breath on his neck. For a second, he enjoyed the heat and the comforting pressure of another body on his.

He closed his eyes again and the last flashes of memory came back to him.

The man. With the beard. Stroking his back and offering him a cab. Offering to take him home. Offering with lude eyes and curling fingers.

Keith pulled away from the body, a scream building in his throat and terror burning in his gut. Scrambling away from the person, he stopped. Froze. Almost more terrified at this situation.

Lance’s hands were still strew across Keith’s body. Keith was sitting up, looking down on the Altean. One arm was wrapped around his hip and the other laid haphazardly in his lap. He realized thankfully he was still wearing his clothes from last night, and the entirety of Lance’s tanned neck was free of hickies or bite marks.

The panic ebbed as Keith realized that nothing happened between them last night. Probably.

Keith looked at Lance, the soft slope of his neck, the broadness of his shoulders, the tender flick of his eyelashes against his cheeks. Brown hair dipped against his forehead in lofty tufts. With a tentative finger, he brushed them back, admiring how soft Lance’s hair was. The Altean made a small noise in the back of his throat.

Keith paused, frozen and worried to be caught in this situation.

He looked down at Lance again, and his heart caught in his chest. Whatever this was, it needed to stop. Immediately.

Carefully, Keith extracted himself from Lance’s grip. He grabbed his jacket from the living room and ran out of the apartment. When he reached the train station, his breathing was erratic from more than just the early morning jog.

“Fuck,” He whistled.

  


****

  


Lance woke to a cold bed and a bitterness settling in the cavities of his heart.

He palmed at his phone pulling it off his nightstand. There was a text from Pidge and one from Keith. He didn’t want to open Keith’s first, but he couldn’t fight the anger and anticipation that boiled in his blood.

Keith: _I’m really sorry about last night._  
Keith: _But thank you so much_  
Keith: _I’ll find a way to repay you_  


Lance wanted to be angry, wanted to feel strangely rejected by Keith leaving him alone in bed. But it wasn’t like they were anything like that. Were they even friends? Could they ever be more than that? Lance could barely admit to himself that Keith was attractive. Couldn’t admit how much he liked that one late night conversation. Couldn’t admit how he had woken in the middle of the night to the pleasant tangle of his and Keith’s limbs. Couldn’t admit any of this, because where would that leave him?

Allura’s order still resonated in his mind.

Keith’s words echoed louder. The quiet admission that he was scared had thrown Lance more than he could possibly say. Here was the boy that had threatened him with a gun, had been slapped around by Allura on multiple occasions, had stood up to the leader of Altea to demand better terms for his friend. And yet he was scared.

Lance: _you don’t have anything to repay me for, Keith_  
Keith: _oh my god_  
Keith: _so we did fuck last night_  


Lance slammed the phone against the pillow and took a deep breath. “What the fuck? What the fuck!” Lance repeated, counting the dim stars on his ceiling, outshined by the sunlight that filtered through his shades.

Lance: _WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?_  
Keith: _sorry, I guess_  
Lance: _what makes you think we had sex?_  
Keith: _maybe because I woke up in your bed and you told me that I didn’t need to repay you for anything, alluding to the fact that I had already paid you enough with my body last night. Or I don’t know Lance, maybe the fact that I can’t remember anything after that creep hitting on me_  


Lance read Keith’s text message once. Twice. Three times. He didn’t know how to answer. Didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to comfort Keith.

Keith: _so did we have sex?_  
Lance: _No, Keith._  
Lance: _you were drunk out of your mind last night. I have standards_  
Lance wanted to pull that last text back. He ground his teeth. He didn’t want Keith thinking that he wasn’t attractive enough for Lance to want - Not that Lance wanted to admit that he wanted Keith - Not because he did. Because - ugh!

Keith: _oh, sorry. I didn’t think_  
Keith: _I didn’t mean to insult you._  
Lance: _I didn’t mean it like that_  
Lance: _just, I wouldn’t want to take advantage of you like that. you’re a really handsome guy so whoever you end up with would be lucky_  
Lance groaned and rolled over in his bed, ignoring the other messages and wishing that sleep would overtake him once again.  


****

  


It took a week and a half before Keith found the opportunity to talk to Thace. It was after another one of Lotor’s meetings where he pranced around the warehouse announcing new ideas and changes. The older members attempted not to look between each other for confirmation at the wildness of Lotor’s plans. Lotor’s biggest support was Haggar with a greedy gleam in her eyes, she followed his speeches adding in words from Zarkon and stirring up the loyalty of any who were skeptical.

“Thace,” Keith called out, jogging slightly to catch up with the long legged man. Thace smiled broadly, wrapped Keith under one arm.

“Red, what can I do you for?”

Keith smiled brightly, directing them both towards his bike, “Do you mind if we talk?”

“Of course,” Thace pulled back from Keith and looked directly into his eyes, his seriousness and determination shining through, “Anytime.”

“I was hoping we could talk somewhere more private,” Keith admitted, scratching the back of his neck and taking the opportunity to look around to see if anyone was near, “It’s about Ulaz and Sam.”

Thace stiffened at Ulaz’s name. He nodded and pointed to Keith’s bike, “Where are we planning on meeting? Your apartment?”

Keith nodded, putting on his helmet and straddling his bike, “See you there in twenty?” Thace nodded and then Keith was off.

And in thirty minutes, Keith and Thace were sitting at Keith’s kitchen table cups of steaming coffee in their hands. Keith stared at the liquid in his cup, not know how to start this conversation. Even if it was six years ago, asking someone to talk about their murdered lover was never an easy topic.

“So what did you want to know?” Thace asked, fingers drumming on the side of his ceramic cup.

“I met Katie recently.”

“Sam’s daughter?”

Keith nodded, not meeting Thace’s eyes, “She joined Altea searching for answers about Sam’s murder.” Thace didn’t answer so Keith continued, “We were friends in high school and Shiro recently told her that Altea was the reason for Sam’s murder so she’s still looking for answers.”

“She’s with Altea?” Thace asked as if he needed to hear the answer again to believe it. Keith nodded, opening his mouth to explain more of Katie’s thought process, to defend her. “Does she know who met with Ulaz and Sam?”

“She couldn’t find any information.”

Thace leaned forward over the table, “That doesn’t surprise me. There have been several members of Galra that agree with me in thinking it was an inside job.”

“An inside job?” Keith mumbled, letting the words register in the farthest reaches of his mind before his fingers tightened around the mug until the liquid within quaked.

“They were murdered too close to neutral territory, so much so that Lotor or Zarkon could have contested that the Peace Treaty was broken,” Thace theorized, “But nothing happened. Sam and Ulaz were carted off like another unfortunate accident. And we both know that Zarkon and especially Lotor are not ones to pass on any opportunity to destroy Altea.”

“But it was six years ago, maybe things were different then,” Keith mumbled trying to remember the Galra dynamic from when he was in high school.

Thace’s laugh was bitter, “If anything it was worse. Do you not remember Zarkon activity plotting to kill Alfor?”

Keith closed his eyes and tried to picture Zarkon. He was a brute of a man, muscled and sharp jawed and even more sharp tongued. He could remember Lotor, just a year older than Shiro, white haired and smiling, always always smiling.

“We all thought some of the tension would finally ease once Alfor died and Zarkon stepped away, but it seems that Lotor is even more thirsty for the downfall of Altea than his father was,” Thace commented, taking a small sip of the coffee in his hand.

Keith leaned back in his chair, thinking over the information that Thace had provided. They sat in silence as Keith analyzed the information. The first sentence he spoke was a mere whisper, “What do you think will happen when Zarkon dies?”

“And Lotor becomes the official leader of Galra?” Keith nodded, swirling his coffee but not taking a sip. He had lost all appetite, thinking about the way Lotor spoke, the way the he wound the members of Galra around his fingers, doing things that even Zarkon refused to do. “I fear for the day. Zarkon had standards and a way of running that we were all accustomed to.”

Keith ran a hand through his hair, tugging on the ends and closing his eyes, “I just don’t understand attempting to recruit people for organ donation.”

Thace rubbed a hand along his chin, “I can see the profit and even the benefit in it. It gives the family money, a means to pay for medical bills or the funeral and allows other Galra patients to live.” He took a small sip of his coffee before cringing and pushing to the side, “I hear Lotor was inspired to make this a major revenue point after the heart transplant for the Mayor’s daughter.”

“No,” Keith whispered, eyes wide and heart palpitating in his chest.

“Yes, I heard that the young girl that was brought in had terminal brain cancer and the family was able to pay off all of the bills and her funeral with the money they received from Galra. They were very thankful.” Thace explained, leaning forward on the table. “But I do not believe that Galra will be as profitable or as lawful as Lotor makes it out to be.”

Keith fumbled for something to say, to finally voice all of the thoughts and fears that bubbled in his blood. But Thace’s phone buzzed, and a second later so did Keith’s.

Prince: _I would like to publically announce the promotion of Acxa Noni due to the skills she displayed by bringing us one of the first new installments of the Galra Empire. I hope that you will all soon follow in her footsteps._

Keith swallowed, feeling the apartment walls and the bars of his tiny world closing in on him.

  


****

  


Lance didn’t want to see Hunk’s face the day he wandered out of room in nothing but pajama pants and a flush of shame on his cheeks and the memories of the distant heat of Keith’s skin. The glass of water was already gone from the coffee table, and there was the soft sizzle of eggs cooking. Before Lance could even think about vanishing back into his room, Hunk’s voice called out to him.

“Glad to see you weren’t murdered in the middle of the night,” Hunk berated, flipping the eggs in the pan with a practiced flourish.

Lance scratched at the back of his neck and padded into their tiny kitchen, “Yeah, I’m alive.”

“And Keith didn’t spend the night on the couch, did he?” Hunk didn’t need to look away from the stove to see Lance’s blush. Lance stuttered, lips flapping and face dipped in a vat of blush. It tingled his cheeks and set his ears aflame.

“Yeah, the asshole throws up all over the bar, makes me take care of him, and then takes half of my bed,” Lance flopped down at the table just as Hunk plated the eggs. Hunk raised an eyebrow, turning to see Lance and the bright blush on his cheeks.

The plate with an egg, puffy and steaming, sitting on it clattered to the table in front of Lance. Hunk’s face was a wash of anxiety and panic. He shook his head frantically and began to wring his hands.

“Lance, no.” His voice was a wheeze.

“What?” Lance snapped, rolling his eyes and stabbing his fork into the fluffy eggs.

“You like him.”

Lance choked on the small piece of egg he was eating. He glared up at Hunk, “Like him, Hunk? Come on. Seriously? We’re barely even friends.”

Hunk narrowed his gaze before setting a glass of orange juice on the table in front of Lance. He knew that Hunk wasn’t satisfied with his answer. But how could he assure his best friend when his heart still beat erratically from the mere fragments of memories like dreams from last night in bed with Keith?

He had almost died when Hunk suggested that he liked Keith. There was a slight tremble to his hand as he stabbed another piece of egg. The blush had settled to a dim heat, but his heart hadn’t slowed. He could feel his pulse in his fingertips and his temples.

He didn’t like Keith. Did he?

The question seemed to hang in the air whenever he breathed, coating his lungs and poisoning his blood with every inhalation.

  


****

  


Another mandatory group meeting had been called. Keith filed into the refurbished warehouse along with Galrans he hadn’t seen in years. He sat in some stadium like seats, thumbing through his phone and waiting for the meeting to start.

Lotor strode in perfectly on time. His hair was pure white and braided down his back. He wore a button down and slacks, dressing up just enough to differentiate himself from the crowd of people. His smile was welcoming if not a bit cold, “Welcome!” He announced with Acxa trailing behind him, having been promoted to his right-hand just last week.

Lotor walked around the warehouse, Acxa standing by his side. His smile was a fixed thing, permanently screwed onto his face, “I know that this may come as a surprise to many, but my father was once a very kind and trusting man. He trusted Alfor of Altea, and it was his trust and this man who took advantage of it that will kill him. Quintessence, a drug more addictive than cocaine and heroin combined, was laced in my father’s food while he dined with Alfor.

“My father was merely a method to street test the drug.” Lotor paced around the room, creating a rise in the crowd. He seemed to make eye contact with every person in attendance. When his eyes settled on Keith, he couldn’t deny the small rush of validation and approval that soared through his blood. “He made my father addicted to quintessence as a means of testing it, as a means of destroying the enemy, as a means of ensuring the survival of Altea. My father was never one to depend on others, so he destroyed any way of getting the drug by killing Alfor for his indiscretions.”

The crowd cheered at the sound of Zarkon’s triumph. As a means of attracting less attention, Keith raised his fists in the air with the other members of Galra in attendance. But with each raise of his fist, his heart dropped another degree lower in his chest.

Lotor smiled at the energy of the crowd, walking forward and stepping closer to different sections of the audience as he talked to encourage their cheering and enthusiasm. He smiled, open and friendly but Keith couldn’t help but notice how it didn’t reach his eyes.

“And about a month ago, my father used the last of the quintessence he had received from Alfor. He had been gradually attempting to lower the dosage and wean himself off the drug, but there unfortunately wasn’t enough and he’s beginning to go through withdrawal.” He opened his arms to the crowd as if to indicate everyone in attendance, involve them all in his grief, “We were very hopeful that he would make a full recovery, but Alfor must have been very aware of the effects of the drug.

“So with the impending fall of my father, we will have the rise of a stronger Galra force, united in word and deed. We will focus all of our energy on eliminating Altea and expanding our influence until there is no place that does not know the power of Galra.” Lotor cheered, thrusting his fist into the air and spurring on the crowd.

Someone started to cheer Lotor’s name, and Keith felt his scream of horror get lost in the enunciation of Lotor’s name on his tongue.

  


****

  


“Allura,” Lance whined, placing his cheek against the bar, “Why can’t I have anymore shifts at the bar?”

She turned on her heel, pulling away from her conversation with Ryner about the newest drug production. “Lance, I thought giving you one shift a week would be enough.”

“But I did such a good job last Saturday, right? And the twins birthday is coming up so I kind of need the money,” Lance complained, looking at her with wide eyes and a small pout.

“Work it out with your fellow bartenders,” Allura waved him off over her shoulder, following Ryner toward the curtained off elevator, “Oh and Lance,” He looked up at her, “Meet me in my office in thirty.”

Pidge whistled low, walking out from the employee lounge while wheeling the vacuum cleaner, “She’s going to chew you out for sleeping with Keith.”

“For the last time, I didn’t sleep with him!” Lance snapped, sitting up straight and glaring at Pidge over the bar, “I slept next to him.”

She waved her hand, shoving the vacuum into the supply closet, “Semantics.”

Lance groaned and let his head fall back to the bar.

Allura’s office was cold, nestled into the far corner of the basement. She had pictures adorning the walls, but there were empty nails and a pile of frames on a chair. He knew that those were pictures of her and Takashi.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and strode forward. “You wanted to speak with me?” He asked, wanting to make a joke about the situation, but there was nothing but business on his mind. She smiled lightly, setting some papers aside.

“Yes, please sit Lance.” She motioned to a chair on the other side of her desk. She laced her fingers together and leaned forward, “I wanted to see if you had gotten any information regarding the Galra. I heard talk that you and Keith are officially seeing each other, and I wanted to compliment you on your dedication to Altea.”

Lance’s throat dried. He opened his lips to tell her everything. To tell her that Keith wasn’t that bad and that at times he could be so achingly charming. And even though he was attractive, Lance wouldn’t have slept with him just because of her orders. He wanted to tell her how he couldn’t stop thinking about Keith and the vanishing warmth of his body and how much he wanted to feel what it was like to wake up next to him. He wanted to tell her that he learned nothing.

But he just nodded, and hated the swell of pride and satisfaction at Allura’s bright smile.

“I learned that Lotor is gaining more power in Galra, which I can only assume is because Zarkon is close to dying,” Lance mumbled the thoughts he had been mulling over for the past week.

“God, I wonder when that old dog will finally die,” Allura contemplated, taking notes of what Lance was saying. She waited, looking up with confused expression, “Is that all the information you received, Blue?” Her tone was cutting; it was disapproval in its most concentrated form.

Lance could see Keith lolled against the stall door, saliva dripping from his lips and the small whisper of his voice.

“Lotor has intimating views that even put Keith on edge.” Lance fiddled with the hem of his jacket, feeling his heart fill with lead, “I can only speculate that these views are more extreme than his father --”

“And may involve destroying Altea,” Allura interrupted, quickly scribbling down her thoughts.

“What?” Lance squeaked, breath rapid and confusion warping his common sense.

Allura raised a single eyebrow, looking up from her notes, “It would only make sense for Red to be worried about your safety with Lotor in power.” Lance couldn’t confirm, mind too distracted by the thought of Keith worrying about him, “Lotor’s a manipulative son of bitch, so I can only imagine how he’s going to spin his father’s nearing death to his advantage.” She sighed, leaning back in the chair.

Her smile was wide when she looked up and met Lance’s gaze, “Thank you, Lance. This has been very informative. I’m hoping that you’ll have more information the next time we talk.”

Lance nodded and left the room, ignoring the tug of his heart and the way each wheezing inhale sounded like betrayal in his ears.

  


****

  


With a confidence that he didn’t feel, Keith strode to the door of Legendary. The lights of the bar shown outside, colored and bright. He shifted his weight as a couple college girls handed the bouncer their IDs. He was stocky and intimidating. His teeth curled and eyes narrowed as Keith stepped up to hand his ID.

The bouncer handed Keith’s ID back, and he shoved it into his wallet. He began striding through the door when a firm hand caught his wrist. The bouncer looked directly at Keith, teeth bared in a poor imitation of a smile.

“You’re Red,” He stated, no question in his voice. Keith tried to shake the man’s grip.

“So?” Keith bit back, too irritated and irrational to even try to pretend he wasn’t a member of Galra.

The bouncer leaned down to breath in Keith’s ear, “Leave now or leave later in a bodybag. Your choice.”

Keith jerked his arm away from the bruising force of the bouncer’s grip. “I’m here to see a friend.” The bouncer stepped immediately in front of the door, completely blocking the entrance. The small line that was waiting outside of Legendary seemed to shift anxiously, murmuring about the scene playing out before them, “Let me through.”

“Dogs aren’t allowed here,” The bouncer growled, leaning down so that his hot breath blew across Keith’s face.

Without a second thought, Keith kicked out the bouncer’s knee with dislocating force. He cried out, clutching at his leg and giving Keith enough room to sprint through the door. His panic was rising. He was already desperate enough to come to Legendary, and his desperation was rising.

He tried to move around the crowd of people, too densely packed for him to make his way far into the bar before burly arms wrapped around his waist. Keith’s fingers dug into the tough muscle of the bouncer. His heels dug into the sticky wood floor before they were completely lifted off the ground. Flailing his legs and attempting to strike the man, he searched for Shiro. The arms wrapped around his body tightened and he cried out.

He saw a flash of blue, a bright smile, a familiar sight. Lance was standing behind the bar, smiling and pouring a pint of beer. “Lance!” Keith cried out, more desperate sounding than he ever remembered hearing his voice.

Lance whipped around at the sound of his name. The smile vanished at the sight of Keith. He reached a single hand out over the shoulder of the bouncer and begged for Lance to take it.

  


****

  


“Klaizap!” Lance called, rushing around the bar, pushing through the crowd of people. He wasn’t sure why he was so desperate, why Keith calling his name forced his heart to stall, stuttering his his chest. “Klaizap, put him down!” Lance cried out to the bouncer who finally stopped attempting to cart Keith away.

“He’s fine,” Lance huffed, standing up to his full height in front of Klaizap.

“But Allura said --”

“He’s with me, okay?” Lance cut him off, more curt that he wanted to be. But there was a paleness to Keith’s face and a slight tremble of his fingers and made Lance protective. Klaizap nodded and went back to scanning IDs and allowing people into the bar with a small limp.

Lance grabbed and Keith’s hand, pulling him through the crowd of people. He ignored the heat of Keith’s hand and the way he so willingly followed the Altean. He pulled them both into the employee lounge where Pidge was taking a small break.

“Wait, if you’re here, then who’s manning the bar, Lance?!” Pidge cried, jumping up from the couch with a series of curses and pushing out of the door.

Lance sighed and slumped into the couch, expecting Keith to follow. He stood, ramrod straight, by the door, looking around the small room.

“Where’s Shiro? I need to talk to him.” Keith’s voice was firm but there was a desperate edge to it that make Lance’s lungs collapse.

“He’s not working tonight.”

“Fuck!” Keith yelled, turning around and punching the wall with such force Lance was surprised there wasn’t a hole in the drywall, “I didn’t even fucking think about that. Holy shit, I’m so goddamn stupid.” He hit the drywall with the other fist before Lance was bonding off the couch and gently pulling him away from the wall.

His words were soft, slowly calming Keith’s breathing, “Hey, it’s okay. Why don’t you just call him to meet you here?” Then there was Allura’s soft purring echoing in his mind, “Or you could talk to me about it.”

Keith looked up with wide eyes and an innocent blush across his pale cheeks. His lips parted to say something, and it was then that Lance realized how close they were. His gaze traced the soft curve of Keith’s parted lips. He bet Keith could his pulse in his fingertips that were so tightly wrapped around the Galran’s biceps.

Keith was about to say something when his phone buzzed, and he quickly stepped back and pulled it out his pocket. He held onto it with both hands, read the message over and over and over again. He looked up and there was the same terror on his face that Lance had seen that night in the bathroom. That vulnerability that made Keith seem so much younger than twenty-two.

“Zarkon’s dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!!  
> If you liked the chapter, please comment or give kudos, because they honestly mean the world to me and I love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> You can also come chat with me on my Voltron [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!!
> 
>  
> 
> And can we talk about season 3?!?!? All that beautiful soft Klance - I'm just officially dead haha  
> Hope you guys enjoyed the season too!


	4. Embers and Dying Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I’m so so so sorry for the super late update! I kind of lost motivation for this fic while I was working on other projects (some birthday fics, and the 3 big bangs I ended up joining, check me out if you want to see some of my more fluffy stuff). But I ended up writing this for NaNo this year and so I have a lot more content that I’m excited to post!
> 
> Thank you all for being so patient with me and my sporadic updates! <3
> 
> Your comments and kudos mean the world to me and thank you so much for taking the time to read my fic <3 <3

Suddenly, the sounds of the bar were too loud, even muffled and isolated outside of the employee lounge.

“What did you just say?” Lance questioned Keith, placing urgent hands on his shoulders.

Keith trembled under his grip. “Zarkon’s dead.” The fear in his eyes replaced with blame and betrayal and anger that sizzled and scorched, “Zarkon’s dead because of you.”

“Me? What’ve -”

“Altea!” Keith snapped back, stepping out of Lance’s grip, “You guys and your drugs and quintessence or whatever!” He looked down at his phone again as if not believing the text that ran across it. “I should’ve never come here.”

Lance’s heart ache, pulled and contracted too strongly. “Keith,” Lance pleaded, reaching forward for him again, “Let’s call Takashi, okay?”

Keith didn’t respond, so Lance pulled out his phone and called. Takashi’s voice was groggy and not completely sober, “Hello?”

“Takashi, can you come to Legendary immediately? Keith’s here and -”

“On my way,” Takashi cut him off, hanging up the phone.

“Keith, Takashi’s on his way,” Lance spoke in a calm voice, watching the waves of shock and terror play out on Keith’s features.

Lance took another step forward, and Keith’s eyes jumped up from his phone to actually see Lance for the first time. “No, no. I shouldn’t have come. It’s pointless anyway - it doesn’t mean anything anymore!” Keith shouted, grip tightening on the phone like he was preparing to stomp it into the ground.

“You can talk to me. It’s not pointless.” Lance took a step forward and placed a gentle hand on Keith’s arm. He tried not to feel the bitterness bite into his skin when Keith shook him off.

“I can’t talk to you,” Keith grabbed at Lance’s wrist, flashing the Altean tattoo that pointed down the tendons on his hand. He thrust the tattoo in Lance’s face, while the sign of his tattoo flashed on the interior of his wrist. “You’re Altean.” Keith dropped Lance’s hand, a resentment in his tone that Lance hadn’t heard before. He hadn’t understood the playful quality of Keith’s voice; how it was playful even when he was tied up and interrogated or when Lance had invaded his apartment. Keith had never spoken like this.

“I just thought that Shiro would understand - I just thought - I don’t know anymore!” Keith's phone buzzed, and he looked at it with anger pumping through his tightening fingers. “I have to go,” he growled, marching out of the door.

Lance followed after him. “Keith, wait!” he called, but he was quickly lost in the crowd at Legendary, the door pining with the sound of a bell before Lance could even move beyond the bar.

Allura appeared from the crowd, like an abbreviation of anger. She snatched his arm and dragged him into the lounge again.

“Pidge called me,” Allura stated, not even waiting for the door to shut. “I understand that you have something going on with Red, but I thought we had an understanding that he wasn’t permitted in this bar.” She pushed Lance onto the couch and slammed her heel down on the coffee table, “I don’t know how to make this more clear to you, Blue.”

“It’s already crystal clear, Allura.”

She stiffened at his words, leaning forward and propping her forearm on her knee. “Then if it was already crystal clear,” she mocked his tone of voice as she repeated his words, “then why was Red running through my bar tonight?”

“I didn’t know he was coming,” Lance explained, lacing his fingers together, back hunched and the normal veil of confidence he wore diminished. His head dipped as he remembered every single terrified expression Keith wore. “He came looking for Takashi, but before I could even call him, Keith got a text saying that Zarkon died.”

Allura paused at that, before a bittersweet smile bloomed on her face, reminiscent of lilies of the valley. Slowly she removed her foot off the coffee table and sat on it instead. Her nylon-covered knees bumped Lance’s as she leaned in close to him. Her expensive perfume wafted off her as she placed a gentle hand on his knee.

“What else did Red say?”

He could feel her prodding, begging for answers and information in the gentle tone of her voice and the soft ministrations of her fingers on his skin. He could hear her orders in the back of his mind. And he fought the temptation to not tell her, fought the strange loyalty to Keith’s trust, and fought the sick nausea of betrayal that leached bile into his abdomen.

Lance looked up into Allura’s seeking eyes. His lips parted and the heavens fell from them, “He blamed Altea for Zarkon’s death. Something about our drugs and quintessence.”

Allura’s grip was a vice on his knee, making him cringe. Her nails bit into the soft flesh of his thigh as she exhaled forcefully as if to calm herself. “Are you positive that’s what he said? He mentioned quintessence?” Her words were still half bitten off and chewed.

“Yeah, but I’m not sure what -”

“That’ll be all, Blue.” Allura stood up and cut him off, fingers leaving scorched skin as they pulled away. Her tone was formal, curt and all business. She strode to the door, opening it and allowing the sounds and lights of the bar to contaminate the quiet lounge, “Remember your boyfriend is not allowed in my bar. Oh, and break time’s over.”

The door shut with a muted thud.

  


****

  


Keith left tire treads and the smell of burnt rubber in his wake as he roared down the road away from Legendary, helmet pinching under his chin. His fingers twitched on the throttle, pushing the bike faster. He loved the way the wind tore at him and the way that he could only focus on the road and swerving between cars. The distracting hum of the bike between his legs and his muffled screams.

He pulled into the warehouse seeing the inconspicuous crowds filtering into the building. He kept his helmet under his arm, after parking his bike on the curb. His phone buzzed again and he read the previous messages.

Prince: _Due to the untimely death of my father, I am issuing a full group assembly at the Warehouse in an hour._

Rebel: _Red, get to WH now._  
Rebel: _Katie told me where you were. Could you be anymore of an idiot?_  
Rebel: _I saved you a seat, loser, so just get your ass here on time_

There was a distant air to the Warehouse, a stifled kind of silence even with all of the members of Galra in attendance. Keith kept his head down, unable to look in the eyes of those who were genuinely grieving when he was merely swallowing the terror that Lotor’s regime would bring.

Keith slid into the seat Matt had saved in one of the back rows of the bleachers, leather jacket beginning to stick to his skin with the sticky heat of the room.

“You’re late,” Matt whispered, leaning towards Keith with a forced jovial smile on his face. There was a strange sense of solemnity in the room, an ache for times now officially lost and the leader they had pledged their allegiance to. Zarkon may not have been a personable man, earning their loyalty through shows of strength and fear. But he was a man that led Galra in the best of times. He brought them together, made them a home and a family - twisted and bloodthirsty, but more of a family than Keith had ever had before.

“The Prince isn’t even here yet,” Keith mumbled, shoving Matt with his shoulder and mimicking his casualty, “I’m not late.”

Matt stuck his tongue out at Keith, before turning to the sudden opening of the doors. A stagnant silence settled over the room as Lotor strode in. He was wearing a black button down with purple cufflinks and tailored black jeans. He adjusted his cufflinks as he strode forward, gaze cast to the floor. Tendrils of his hair covered his face, covering the shroud of grief that settled over his features.

Acxa was walking right behind him, face stern and echoing whatever power Lotor normally displayed underneath soft words and cunning smiles. Her blue heels clicked softly on the ground. She was dressed in all black in a display of her mourning: tight dress pants ended just above her ankles and a high-necked blouse.

The other three “generals” that Keith had heard whispered about followed Lotor, making him an imposing sight - a firm declaration to Galra that there was no question of leadership. They were like a funeral procession, dressed in black and veiled in grief. There was the clearly scribed bereavement in the slope of their shoulders, tilt to their chins, and soft swelling to their eyes.

A girl with hot pink hair pinned up in a sleek ponytail and a dampened bounce in her step, followed behind Acxa. She wore all black in a way that dimmed the light in her eyes and brightened the colorful beads on her wrist, accenting her floral shirt with puffy sleeves. Her black skirt was short over lacy black tights, muting the small tattoos around her ankle and dancing up her calf. Ezor, Haggar’s newest understudy.

Opposite of her stood a girl taller than even Lotor with muscles that strained the limits of her black button down, tucked neatly into loose dress pants. Her arms were crossed and she looked over the crowds in the bleachers with gloom and a touch of ferocity. Her short hair was slicked back and tucked behind her ears, donned with colorful piercings up the length of the cartilage. Zethrid, Lotor’s strong arm.

In between Ezor and Zethrid, stood a girl with eyes that focused on nothing, one arm intertwined with Ezor and the other grabbed a white stick, curled under her arm. A lanky cat sat on her shoulder, tail curling into the soft tufts of her pixie cut. She wore a simple black dress over solid black tights, flats softly padding against the Warehouse floor. Narti, Lotor’s coding and tech expert.

Lotor stopped in the middle of the floor, his generals surrounding him. Haggar was off to the side, a tense set to her jaw, because even though she had been by his side for all of the meetings prior to Zarkon’s death, she was no longer welcome there.

This was the demonstration of a new regime.

“Welcome,” Lotor spoke, looking up at all of his new subjects. “I am sorry that this meeting is under such circumstances, but I want to express my condolences to all of you, for as much as Zarkon was my father, he was a father to all of you.”

There were almost silent murmurs and a stifled sob. It was evident that Zarkon meant more to some than he did to others, and there was no way to deny his influence on the Galrans or to the city.

“No one is alone in their grief today.” Lotor’s voice was controlled, hands calmly dancing before him in a show of openness and understanding. Acxa placed a soft hand on his shoulder, and Lotor quickly placed his hand atop hers, a show of togetherness and understanding. He smiled back at her, thankful and gentle.

But Keith couldn’t help but notice a scripted nature to Lotor’s speech, unsure if it was a way to mask his grief or craft it.

Matt’s hand clamped down on his knee, fingers squeezing as Lotor began to describe the way Galra would be handled, the way he would carry on his father’s legacy. Keith ground his teeth and tried to tune out the rest of Lotor’s propaganda.

“Thank you for attending today on such short notice.” Lotor’s smile was weak, a fragile thing crafted of dandelion seeds and frost. “I aspire to be a leader my father would be proud of.”

Lotor dismissed the assembly with a small thank you, turning to his generals and Acxa’s soft touches and Zethrid’s back-breaking claps of encouragement. Keith flooded out of the stands with the rest of the members, a crowd of mourners directed along with the tides of Lotor’s voice.

Keith was anxious to get home or to ride his bike to another city, escape this life he had crafted for himself. Matt stood by his side, a constant in this crowd, a fixture that mirrored his own minute grief and thundering terror of what Lotor would bring.

“Kogane,” Lotor’s voice was a quiet drawl over the murmur of the crowds. Keith stopped in his tracks, turning stiffly to face the new leader of Galra and away from Matt who stood awkwardly by the door, waiting for Keith to follow. Lotor was tall, lithe, and powerful beneath all of his moderately fancy clothes and starched shirts.

“Yes, sir?” Keith asked, trying to be as formal as possible while keeping anxiety from the tremble of his fingers and unsteadiness of his voice.

Lotor’s smile was calming as he spoke, but it never seemed reached his calculating eyes, “Please, just call me Lotor. Although I don’t mind being called sir by someone as handsome as you,” he flirted, placing a gentle hand on Keith’s shoulder.

It was evident that there was an ache for distraction in Lotor’s gaze and the twitch of his fingertips.

Acxa cleared her throat behind Lotor’s back. He stiffened, dropping his hand from Keith’s shoulder. “Come, let us move this talk somewhere more comfortable.”

Without another word, he turned and simply expected Keith to follow.

Keith gazed at Matt over his shoulder, giving him a small nod. Matt’s features tightened, taking a step forward, against the flow of the crowd, against the will of the Galra. But they were both very aware of what little could be done. An order was issued and Keith had to obey. Matt nodded in return, and Keith turned his gaze back to Lotor’s broad back.

Keith trailed after Lotor into his large office just off the main area of the warehouse. It had several comfortable chairs and a large oak desk. Lotor took a seat behind the desk, putting his feet up and looking like the picture of comfort and dominance despite the news they had just received that night.

Keith stood by Acxa and the entrance to the room, unsure of where exactly to stand.

“Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable.” He smiled warmly, but with each smile Keith was more comfortable identifying that calculating edge to it. “Acxa, do you mind making a pot of coffee?”

She shook her head and started brewing at pot on a small table next to the door.

Lotor’s eyes darted back to Keith, pinning him to the chair, “I just read Nyma’s most recent report,” he stated, pulling up a file from his desk and flipping through it. “I never expected her to be all that successful since Allura’s natural state is that of a shrewd, jealous bitch. However, she appears to have gathered some interesting information, such as your relationship with Blue,” he paused, gaze flicking up from the file and smirking, “or should I say Lance McClain.”

Keith froze and cursed himself for his expressive reactions that telegraphed all of his fears and emotions. He curled his fists and let Lotor continue talking. There was an amused edge to the prince’s voice, curling and winding and obviously enjoying watching Keith’s expressions.

The new leader of Galra flipped another piece of paper. “Lance McClain, 22 years old. A member of Altea since age 16. Works sporadic shifts at Legendary, a bar that doubles as the Altean headquarters. Lives with Toyashi Garrett, another member of Altea who is commonly referred to as Hunk. Lance is half Cuban and half Irish. His mother is a first generation immigrant from Cuba, and he has three younger siblings named Lorna -”

“What do you want,” Keith growled, and the second Lotor’s amber eyes jumped to his, he remembered his place and finished with a weak, “Sir?”

Lotor closed the folder and placed it back down on the desk. He sat up straight, pulling his legs off the desk and looking directly at Keith. He folded his hands a smiled. “I want you to know that you can’t hide anything from me, Kogane. Nothing happens within Galra that I don’t know about. I _own_ Galra.”

_I own you._

“So what does that have to do with Lance?” Keith spit out, too fast to think, too anxious to sense the worry that thrummed in his veins with each pulse or the frantic dread that swarmed around Lotor’s implied ownership.

“It won’t have anything to do with him,” Lotor’s smile widened, and Keith slumped back in the chair, already knowing that he had given Lotor everything he needed to win in this battle of wits, “As long as you extort him for all of the information you can. I expect weekly reports, Kogane. That’ll be all.”

He dismissed Keith with the wave of his hand, taking a steaming cup of coffee from Acxa. Keith yanked open the door, only to be stopped once again by Lotor’s voice, “Oh and when you see Shiro, tell him thank you for me?”

Keith nodded and shut the door quietly behind him.

  


****

  


Lance walked into the bar, holding his phone up and smirking. “Allura honey, if you wanted me to come in that was all you had to say.” He winked at her, faking his confidence and hiding his anxiety that revolved the text she had sent him earlier than day. After the night Zarkon died, Lance hadn’t been back to Legendary, spending the rest of the weekend home, playing video games and checking his phone more often than normal.

Allura was sitting on one of the bar stools, long legs crossed while casually bobbing her foot to the soft music of the bar. “This isn’t a social call, Blue,” she commented, flipping her hair behind her shoulder and calling him by his Altean name as a means of enunciating her point.

Pidge raised a single eyebrow and bit her lip as if to hide her smirk. She finished inventory and went to polishing glass, finding any means to stay during this entertaining conversation. Lance ground his teeth, but kept a peaceful smile on his face as he strode up to the bar. He casually leaned against it, placing his phone on the bar and fighting for any sense of familiarity between him and Allura, the mafia boss he answered to without question.

She closed her notebook, folding her hands on top of it and meeting Lance’s gaze. “It’s been over a month and a half since Harold died, and we’re still without a replacement.”

“Allura, I’m sorry. I’ve just been -”

She cut him off with the wave of her hand. “I don’t really want to hear excuses.” Allura snapped her fingers, and Pidge dug out a small bag of weed from beneath the table. It was packed with smaller bags, all carefully individually wrapped. “So I’ve assigned Ryner to the task of finding a replacement for Harold, and in his absence you can sell these.” She casually flipped open her notebook, “I already have some records of sales.”

Lance picked up the edge of the bag and rolled his eyes. “Why do I have to deal this small shit?” He dropped it back to the bar and crossed his arms.

He was a seasoned member of Altea, goddamnit. He didn’t deserve this grunt work.

“Blue,” Allura casually trailed a pointed nail along the bare flesh of his forearm, sending waves of goosebumps across his skin, “You have no one to blame for this predicament than yourself and your boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Pidge gasped, fumbling with one glass and setting it on the bar with such force Lance worried that it would shatter.

“Keith’s not my boyfriend.” His phone buzzed, screen lighting with a text message from Keith. Allura’s smile was rueful. Lance scoffed and scooped his phone up, shoving it back into his pocket.

He grabbed the bag of weed and shoved it into the internal pocket of his jacket, rolling down his sleeves and marching towards the door. “Have a good date! I expect to hear all about it,” Allura called, voice heavy with warning.

Keith: _you busy later today?_  
Keith: _wanna meet up_

Lance stopped walking, cold wind traveling down the baggy sleeves of his jacket. “Fuck,” he breathed, yanking out his packet of cigarettes and dragging in a heavy breath of smoke, standing in the alley beside Legendary. The burn was familiar and comforting as it charred his lungs and settled into the lining of his ribs.

His hands were steady as he typed out a response, cigarette dangling lazily between his lips.

Lance: _If you dare suggest we go to any bars, I will break a bottle over your head this time because I am not taking care of you piss drunk_  
Lance: _We both know how well that went last time_

He could almost feel Allura’s intimidating presence looming around him, soft hair brushing his ear as she gazed over her shoulder, fingernails digging into the tender flesh of his neck. She whispered that the best way to get information was to encourage Keith to drink, to wine and dine him and use every single move Lance had perfected throughout the years. A swooning man with a open heart, open legs, and most importantly, loose lips.

His phone buzzed, and with a small jump of panic he looked at the screen.

Princess: _40th and Wallace. Behind the 7-11._

His fingers pinched the end of his cigarette as he inhaled sharply, knocking half the cigarette ashes to the alley ground like drifting snow. With another steadying breath, he pulled the cigarette from his lips and marched down the road, one hand thrust deep in his pocket and waiting for the vibration of his phone.

The sun had long since set, the only light shining from bright street lights, car headlights, and buildings with wide windows and inviting store fronts. And of course, 7-11 was always lit with bright greens and reds. There was the homeless man who opened the door for people and asked for change with a shaky hand and weak voice.

Lance didn’t raise his head, walking around the block and down the alleyway that butted the back of the 7-11.

The stench of garbage and urine was overwhelming, making Lance wish he hadn’t crushed his cigarette a block away when he had finished it. It would’ve at least given him that sick cloying scent to mask his sense of smell. Glass crunched under his feet as he stalked down the dimly lit alley, all sources of light focused on the main thoroughfares.

He really didn’t deserve this grunt work.

He pulled up his hood and stood casually against the back of the 7-11, hands dug deeply into his pockets and eyes closed.

“Blue?” a tentative voice asked. Lance jumped, standing all. He instinctively reached to his waist, aching for the familiar comfort of his gun in his hand. But the small stature of the boy stopped him. He wore a baseball cap pulled low on his head and a large, blue hoodie with his hands buried in the front pocket.

Lance cracked the knuckles on one hand, slipping into the exterior of confidence he’d crafted in high school. He smiled warmly from under the hood, not that the boy could see him from the dark casting shadows. His lips parted to question the boy, question why he was wasting his family’s money on drugs, but no words left his lips as the boy tilted up his head.

Light from the lights surrounding 7-11 shown on the boy’s face, casting long shadows over his features. The blue eyes were familiar, the same cut to the jaw and roundness to his face. The boy stepped back, hands held in front of him as if protecting himself from the words that Lance would say.

“Marcelo?” Lance’s voice was thick, horror syrupy in his throat.

“Lance?” Marcelo’s hands trembled, pulling down the front of his cap so that Lance couldn’t see his face anymore, the face of his baby brother that he had watched slowly mature, that he had visited on weekends and just recently for the twins birthday, the face that he had been determined to earn money for, the face that had always looked at him with such hope and innocence even after Lance had beat his first man in interrogation.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

But the innocence faded from his brother’s face. He had developed muscles and shed the sweet roundness to his cheeks, broad shouldered and long legged. “I could ask you the same thing, hermano,” Marcelo ground out, hands clenched at his sides.

“I’m not a sixteen year old buying weed with money he stole from his mother’s purse,” Lance growled, stepping closer and looking down on his younger brother. But Marcelo didn’t back up, stood his ground and flexed his muscles under his baggy hoodie.

“And I’m not the twenty two year old selling it.”

There was a moment of silence, only the echo of cars honking and the 7-11 air conditioner whirring to life sounded in the alley.

His voice was almost drowned out by the background noise. “Don’t you dare judge me. You don’t understand anything,” Lance snapped, feeling the twinging need in his fingers to pull out a cigarette and suck it down to the quick.

Marcelo crossed his arms and ground his teeth. “Fucking try me. It’s you who doesn’t know anything.” He stepped forward and pushed against Lance’s chest, sending him stuttering steps backward, “You moved out of the house. You barley visit. You have no idea what’s going on.”

Lance grabbed Marcelo’s wrists when they came at him for another push. His blunt fingernails dug into the soft tendons of his brother’s wrist. “You think I don’t know what’s going on? You think I joined this gang for fun, Marce?” Lance’s chest vibrated with anger that blurred his vision and tinted everything a sickly shade of red. “I send half of my money home to keep you fed and to keep -”

“Money won’t keep mom and dad together,” Marcelo yelled, ripping his arm from Lance’s grasp.

“What?” Lance stopped, hands trembling by his sides.

It wasn’t like he didn’t remember his parents fighting, the late night conversations and echoes down the hall. How in the early dawn of the morning after, his mom would gently pick up all remnants of broken glass and try to sweep the argument under the rug. There was a permanent exhaustion to his parent’s faces, a tiredness his willfully ignored. | Conversations he had to have twice, once to his mother and once to his father, the separation evident in every facet of their relationship.

Marcelo shoved his hands deep into his hoodie pocket and rolled his eyes. “Don’t screw with me, Lance.” His voice was a growl, a tone that Lance couldn’t even register, so unfamiliar - a warped version of everything he knew.

“Money might not keep them together,” Lance snarled, stepping forward and using his height to intimidate his brother, “But it gives you things I didn’t have.” He pulled the small bag of weed out of his pocket, shaking it between fingers. It glinted in the dim lights of the alley.

“That’s my fucking money you’re stealing to pay for this weed. When I was your age, I was selling this shit on the street and watching bloody integrations just so that we could have pencils for school.”

Marcelo ripped a couple bills out of his pocket and shoved them at Lance’s chest. “Then let’s just conduct this like an ordinary business deal. Give me my weed.”

“Fuck, no.” Lance snatched the money out of his brother’s grip to shove it into his own pocket.

There was a confident smirk on Marcelo’s face as he rocked back on his heels, a kind of manipulation Lance had learned long ago to twist those unsuspecting around his fingers. “What would your big, bad -” And he did air quotes, hoodie sleeves rolling back to his elbows, “ - ‘Mafia Boss’ think about you denying a profitable sale?”

The Silver-Tongued McClains.

Without another word, Lance pulled out his phone, dialing Princess with a quick swipe of his fingers across the screen.

“Blue,” her voice was a harsh concern in his ears, “is everything alright?”

“My kid brother’s the client. I reserve the right to deny him, right?” Lance eyed his brother, arms crossed and foot tapping. The smugness of Marcelo’s face had faded slightly as he worried his bottom lip.

Allura laughed slightly, a small scale of chimes. “Altea is your family, Blue. We’re where your loyalty lies, so keep us profitable.” Lance froze, fingers tightening around his phone - his phone given to him by the gang as means of communication. “Plus, isn’t it comforting to know it’s quality?”

And with that she hung up the phone. Lance stiffened, shoving his phone back into his pocket with a harsh grunt. Marcelo snatched the small bag out of Lance’s clutched fingers. Tucking his hands back into the big pocket and pulling down his baseball cap, he started jogging down the alley. With a small salute, he shouted, “Thanks, Blue.” But there was a sarcasm to his voice and the air of victory.

Lance growled and yanked out his phone sending a text before marching out of the alley.

Lance: _I changed my mind._  
Lance: _alcohol is definitely a must tonight_  


****

  


Keith: _you busy later today?_  
Keith: _wanna meet up_

Keith had sent that text to Lance while Lotor’s conversation weighed heavily on his mind - as it had in the days since Zarkon’s death. It dragged the corners of his lips into a permanent frown. Katie had commented on his expression the other day over a cup of coffee at Paladin Park when Keith had told her everything about his conversation with Thace, the tiny fragments of information he had been able to gleen.

He had never responded to Lance’s text, remembering too clearly waking next to the Altean, peaceful and protected.

Lance: _We both know how well that went last time_

And Keith didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t know how to say sorry again or how to appear like a stable human and not someone who ran into establishments only to scream and cry and run out again.

God, he felt like such a fucking idiot.

He dropped his phone back to his bed and groaned. With exaggerated movements, he scrubbed at his eyes.

His phone dinged and he picked it up with two fingers.

Katie: _battlefield. 15 mins._

He wanted to decline, wanted to complain, and wanted to wallow in the pressure that settled on his chest and threatened to suffocate him. But 15 mins later, he was sitting in front of his television, legs crossed, shirtless with headphones on and screaming at Katie and Matt only to hear their cackling laughter in response.

A sudden knock shocked Keith out of the trance the game had wrapped him into for hours. “One sec,” he mumbled to Katie, ripping off the headset and stumbling towards the door. He ripped it open with an eyeroll and a unenthusiastic, “Yeah?”

Any other words stuck in his throat at the sight of Blue standing in his doorway, holding up a handle of tequila and a bag of limes while wearing a cocky, half-hearted smile. He didn’t say anything, just stepped around Keith into the kitchen and pulled open cabinets looking for a shot glass.

“What kind of 22 year old doesn’t have a shot glass?” Lance joked, looking over his shoulder and acting as if they were old friends rather than the Golden boy of Galra and the Silver-Tongued boy of Altea or Red and Blue or anything other than the rivals they were.

Keith shut the door with more force than he meant to, locking the deadbolt and leaning against the wall to the kitchen, arms crossed and expression stern. “The kind that grew up in a gang.”

“Isn’t that more of a reason to have them?” Lance barked a laugh.

Keith rolled his eyes and huffed a sigh. “What are you doing here, Lance?” Lance’s actions stilled, fingers dusting a shelf before pulling out a delicate water glass. With a violent twist of his wrist he unscrewed the cap of cheap tequila and poured himself a generous shot. He tossed it back without even a grimace, hands slamming the table and glass clinking.

He didn’t face Keith as he answered, “You did ask to hang out, didn’t you Red?” Lance spun on the ball of his foot, and his expression was schooled into something closer to what Keith was used to seeing. The perfected twist to his features that he used behind the bar for more generous tips or the smirk he used to convince others that they wanted something just as much as he was convincing himself; it wasn’t the face Keith had woken up next to, with vulnerability and openness and everything that made Keith’s breath catch.

“Yeah, not for you to drink yourself to death in my apartment.”

“You make it sound like I’m the only one drinking.” Lance smirked, pulling down another glass and filling them both up with the tequila that made the room smell like acetone.

Keith crossed his arms, suddenly noticing the bareness of his chest and the way their interactions were too similar but so different from the last time Lance had stormed into his house. And the memory of Lance’s heated skin and the warmth of his thighs mounting him made him shift and end up grabbing a cutting board and slicing up a single lime.

He ground his teeth, rationalizing that the only reason he was agreeing to this was for information, for Galra, and in order to protect Lance from everything Lotor embodied and the way he spun all of the members around his fingers with lithe and luscious words.

Lance sent him a wide smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He swept up the stuff, placing it down on the kitchen table with a clash of noise. Keith shook his head, setting down the cutting board with the six cut pieces of lime and the salt shaker.

Keith slumped into the chair across from Lance with a small sigh. The Altean pushed one glass towards Keith with a watery smile and bright eyes.

“What game should we play, Keithy?”

“Don’t call me that.” Keith growled, snatching the glass and giving it a small sniff. Tequila wasn’t his normal poison, and Lance laughed at the way Keith cringed at the smell.

“You know, you’re not supposed to smell the cheap stuff, right?” Lance chuckled before licking the back of his hand and sprinkling salt on it. Keith followed suit without meeting his eyes. “So I’m thinking we play never have I ever.”

“Because that’ll be fun with two people,” Keith quipped sarcastically, grabbing a lime between his fingers. He licked the salt off his hand and knocked back the shot. With hurried reactions, he bit down on the lime with a grimace and small whine.

Lance followed immediately after, setting a half full cup back on the table. “Two truths and a lie?”

“No.”

“Kings?”

“No.”

“Cheers Governor?”

“Never heard of it.”

“Whales Tales?”

“What the fuck is that?”

Lance threw his hands up in frustration. “Then you suggest something.”

Keith wanted to ask what Lance was trying to avoid, wanted to ask him to play a video game with Katie, Matt, and him, wanted to ask him to do something that didn’t involve personal information that he would have to sell to Lotor for Lance’s safety. But the suggestion slipped off his lips with a small smirk, “Truth or dare or drink.”

“Because that’s not basic as shit,” Lance mumbled, coating the back of his hand with salt again and holding up his half used lime. “So truth or dare, Keith?”

“Truth.”

One: because he didn’t feel like moving. His skin was hot even without a shirt. And the way Lance’s eyes would sometimes travel along the grain of the table and the lines of his bare chest didn’t cool him even though chills traced down his body.

Two: because it would start the flow of information between them.

Lance tapped his chin as if contemplating what question to ask. “Tell me the story of your first kiss.” His smile was wide, leaning forward on his hands, salt dusting back onto the table with the shifting of his fingers.

“Oh god,” Keith chuckled, debating on whether to just chug the rest of his drink to avoid telling this embarrassing story. He ran a hand down his face, salt powdering his eyebrows and lips. “Katie fucking beat my ass after it happened.”

“No,” Lance breathed, a devious smile crawling up his face and the tension leaving the scrunch of his shoulders.

Keith closed his eyes and massaged his temples with vigor. “Matt is just so personable and funny, and damn he was everything my dumb high school self wanted for a boyfriend. So Shiro and I were at the Holts for dinner, and while Shiro was helping to set the table and Katie was finishing up her video game, I found Matt in his room. And of course, he was just out of the shower.”

Keith groaned, dropping his hand back to the table with a thud. He could still remember the way that Matt clapped him on the shoulder, standing so close that Keith could smell the faint scent of vanilla soap radiating off of his skin. “So I just fucking grabbed him by the cheeks and kissed him.”

“I’m guessing it didn’t go over well?” Lance’s smile hadn’t relaxed, and there was no sign of revulsion at the revelation of Keith’s sexuality. And there was a relief resonating in his chest that Keith didn’t even realize he was aching for.

“Fuck no,” he chuckled, tossing back the rest of his drink and sucking on his lime in haste, forgetting about the salt that was smeared on the back of his hand. “Katie walked in and started yelling that the only reason I wanted to be her friend was to get to her brother. And of course Matt didn’t say anything. Just stood there in shock until Shiro came up the stairs asking what the hell was going on.”

Lance laughed, deep and with passionate eyes, as he reached forward for the tequila and filled up Keith’s glass. Leaning back, his finger danced along the rim of the glass. “That’s one hell of a first kiss.”

Keith scratched at the back of his head, taking a small sip of the drink, hoping that having a couple shots in his system would lessen the taste of this jet fuel alcohol - but it didn’t.

“I guess.”

  


****

  


Lance wasn’t surprised learning Keith’s sexuality, not with the way he had spoken at the bar, luring patrons into his ideas with small smiles and gentle brush of fingertips. But he was surprised he admitted it so casually to Lance. Keith normally only portrayed the ideals of the Galra - strength, anger, and violence - so him sharing something so personal was strange, even with the scent of tequila on his breath. So Lance listened to the way Keith spun his story with a light blush on his cheeks, either from embarrassment or alcohol. The blush dripped down to his bare sternum, making Lance’s eyes follow the heated trail and the soft definition of Keith’s muscles.

Lance’s eyes snapped up and met Keith’s gaze, determined and daring as the golden boy of Galra was raised to be. “Truth or dare, Lance?”

“Truth,” Lance sighed, not having the energy to move from this spot. His phone was heavy in his pocket, reminding him of the unanswered text messages from Allura, directing him to other drug deals that he was most definitely missing. The bag of weed in the pocket of his jacket was even heavier, dragging his mind towards memories he’d come into Galra territory and guzzled tequila to forget. He shucked off the jacket, sleeves flipped inside out and hung it off the back of his chair.

“Why’re you so excited to drink?” Keith’s smile was harmless, curious, and not threatening enough to make Lance’s stomach drop the way it did. Cold and icy and roiling.

Lance fought his grimace, swirling the tequila in his glass. “You invited me to hang out, didn’t you Keith? Isn’t this what you do with friends?”

“Cut the bullshit,” Keith growled, gripping his glass so tightly, Lance was afraid it would shatter in his palm.

“What?” Lance mumbled, smiling hard through the tremble in his fingers and roiling ball of anxiety in his stomach.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Keith snapped, furrowing his brow and narrowing his gaze. There was a flash of hurt behind Keith’s ferocious glare that made Lance sigh and drop his faux smile.

The natural exuberance Lancee emitted as a means to project the most amicable version of himself vanished. This was a sort of comfort he never took the risk of accepting in front of others, because he was Lance, the comforter, the comedian, and the loverboy. Not Lance the depressed, the desperate, or the lonely.

He chewed on his bottom lip, feeling the droop to his shoulders and the harsh sigh grate his throat. He opened his mouth to say something - make up a more reasonable lie, but the memory of Marcelo dangling the bag victoriously between two fingers made intelligent words catch in his chest.

Rather than answering, he chugged the rest of his cup after licking the salt off his hand. He chewed on a lime and watched Keith uncap the handle and pour Lance another drink.

“What’s your worst sex experience?” Keith asked, topping off his drink and leaving the bottle open, assuming they would be pouring out more shots soon.

“Nope.” Lance quipped, pushing a piece of lime at Keith, “I just drank. It’s my turn to ask.”

“House rules,” Keith shrugged as if he had just made it up off the top of his head. “If you drink, I get to ask another question or give another dare, until you choose one or you die.”

Lance ground his teeth, ignoring the twist in his stomach at Keith’s playful smile. “You just made that up.”

“Anything’s possible,” Keith chirped. He winked and pushed the limes a little closer to Lance, “So worst sex experience?”

“Do you remember Nyma?” Lance asked and watched the way Keith perked up, eyebrows raising and disappearing into his messy bangs. “Well, she joined Altea a couple months ago, and I mean, you saw her, right? She’s a walking angel, so of course I hit her up. Later, when we were halfway to third base, she picks up her fucking phone. I’m not joking when I say she was ontop of me, shirtless, answering her phone with a ‘Hey baby,’ like she’s not sitting on my dick.”

Keith snorted a laugh, trying to hide his amusement behind his hands. Lance enjoyed the genuine laughter and the sight of the small dimples and the red highlight to Keith’s cheeks.

“So she has a five minute conversation with her fucking boyfriend, and I hear him ask her what’s she’s doing. She makes direct eye contact with me, winks, and says ‘Oh nothing big.’”

And with that Keith tossed his head back and laughed, slamming his hands on the table before wrapping them around his chest like he was trying to hold in the laughter. Lance chuckled, taking a sip as he allowed himself to drink in Keith’s carefree expression. There were tears gathered in the corners of the Galran’s eyes when he sat forward.

“What next?” He wheezed.

Lance licked his lips and didn’t try to fight his smile, feeling a small buzz in his fingertips and warmth rising in his chest. “Picture this. She hangs up and immediately starts going at it like nothing just happened, but I was like, ‘What the fuck?’ And she starts spilling some shit about her relationship being open and how they both love to get off to the thought of her with other people, and the whole time she’s talking I’m thinking about how the fuck I can get out of this situation.”

Keith’s laughter finally died down, and he licked a new line of salt onto his hand, gazing up at Lance with bright eyes. “How’d you finally get away?”

Heat crept up Lance’s skin. He scratched the nape of his neck, feeling flakes of salt drift down the back of his shirt. He’d honestly hoped Keith had forgotten to ask about that.

“I claimed I had explosive diarrhea and ran to the bathroom and climbed out of her window.” Keith exploded into laughter, almost spitting out the sip he was in the middle of taking. “Keith, don’t laugh! I sacrificed my adidas for that shit. And when I asked for them back, she pretended like she had no idea what happened. She’s a monster,” Lance shivered.

There was a moment of gentle silence between the two of them.

“So,” Lance leaned forward, feeling the buzz of alcohol in the tips of his fingers and the edges of his mind, “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” Keith smiled wickedly as if daring Lance to ask his worst.

Lance hummed and tapped a finger against his chin. “Why’d you come to Legendary last week?”

Keith’s face pinched and without another word, he licked the salt off his hand and knocked back a shot. He raised an eyebrow while sucking on the lime.

“Okay, why’d you invite me to hang out?” Lance asked, laying his chin on this crossed hands. Keith grimaced and poured himself another shot. Before Lance could say anything, Keith had drank it and shivered with revulsion.

Lance sighed, unsure of which question to ask next. His sense of duty to Altea made him want to ask more about Galra or Lotor or the organ-trafficking trade, but he was pissed at Allura and Altea as a whole. So he buried those thoughts and asked the one question that had been thrumming through his bones since that first the night at the bar.

“Why’d you leave before I woke up?” Lance questioned, gaze turned down to his half-full glass, finger dancing along the rim. “You know, that first night you came to Legendary and tried to drink yourself to death and I -”

“I remember,” Keith cut him off with a huff.

The memory of that morning was fresh, the distant feeling of warmth and a comforting pace of shallow breathing next to him and holding someone tenderly in the echoes of dawn. But it was all just the edges of a dream, because Lance woke to a cold bed, sheets smelling like vomit and cloves.

“So why did you -”

“Because you’re terrifying!” Keith suddenly shouted, slamming hands back on the table. With a violent huff he sank back into his chair and thrust his hands into his hair, covering his blushing face. His voice was a bare whisper, “You’re everything I shouldn’t care about but do anyway.”

Lance stood, legs giving under the sudden weight of his body but the table steadied him as he walked to Keith side. He placed a gentle hand on the Galran’s shoulder. His skin was almost shockingly cold and slightly sweaty under his tentative grasp. With his other hand, he gently pulled Keith’s hand out of his hair, revealing a watery grey gaze that danced purple in the dim lighting of the kitchen.

“We shouldn’t even be friends, Lance,” Keith seemed to sag with defeat arms dropping to his sides and going pliant under Lance’s touch. “Friendships between Galra and Altea never work.”

“I don’t give a fucking shit about Altea,” Lance growled, marching to his chair and grabbing his jacket and throwing it at the wall. “I’m so tired of having Altea decide everything for me! I had to fucking sell drugs to my younger brother today, Keith.” Lance clenched the edge of the table with white knuckles as his stomach roiled and smoke filled his lungs. He squeezed his eyes closed and the crushing weight of what he’d done earlier hit him with the full force of his avoidance.

He whispered, “And I didn’t fucking have a choice.”

Keith didn’t say anything, just poured another shot into both glasses and salted his hand again. “Then let’s forget all that bullshit tonight, okay?” Keith’s voice was a soft whisper, making Lance open his eyes and see the soft curving smile and gentle gleam in his eye.

Lance picked up the glass, quietly tapped it against Keith’s and threw back the burning alcohol that distracted from the weight of his actions and made the room spin and his stomach clench.

  


****

  


His heart was hammering as his tongue, drunken and slow admitted everything that had been boiling in his blood - the camaraderie he felt with Lance despite Lotor’s manipulation of their relationship and the weight of past deaths and rivalries. But then Lance’s face, indignant and furious with red tipped ears and a blush dusting his collarbones, as he declared that the rules could be discarded made Keith’s breath still.

And then Lance looked like he was on the verge of tears, hands keeping him tethered to the table as his eyes squeezed closed. Keith knew he wasn’t a comforter - even when Sam died, he had only sat by Katie’s side as a touchstone to reality and distant memories.

So he poured more tequila with a smile of distraction and drank with Altea’s Silver-Tongued Paladin.

He wasn’t sure how many shots later, but they were sitting in front of his TV legs a tangle of limbs and the heat of Lance’s arm pressed against his. He kept reaching over and to show Lance how to actually move around on the field, muting his mic and ignoring all of Katie’s invitations to play a serious game of Battlefield.

Once Lance got a handle of how to operate the camera in the game, he was a deadly shot. After one game where he just annihilated the enemies, Lance held up a finger gun to his lips, blowing away imaginary smoke, “That’s why they call me the sharpshooter.”

Keith laughed, bubbles in his lungs. His head tipped onto Lance’s shoulder, room spinning and thoughts floating.

“This makes me miss Shiro even more,” Keith mumbled, nuzzling his nose into Lance’s neck. The Altean pulled back, fighting a little chuckle.

“Stop, I’m ticklish,” he slurred, taking out an opponent even as he looked out of the corner of his eye and met Keith’s hazy gaze. With a snap of his head and the sound of his player’s fatality, Lance turned his attention back on the game. Keith could feel the pull of Lance’s muscles as he played the game. “How do I remind you of Shiro?”

“Just having someone there,” Keith sighed, remembering waking to the scent of coffee and late night conversations over microwave dinners and the air of peace that this house possessed with Shiro’s presence. “Do you avoid your family like Matt did?” Keith slumped a little more against Lance, his body heavy and fingers weighted against Lance’s warm forearm.

Lance’s laugh was bitter and jarring to the precarious position of Keith’s head on Lance’s shoulder. “I wish.” The sounds of shooting echoed from the TV speakers and filled the room. There was the blare of victory, and Lance’s hands fell to his lap. “I joined Altea to earn money for my family. My dad lost his job when I was in high school,” Lance sighed, tipping his head back. Keith pulled away, head spinning and cheek sinking to his own shoulder as he watched the furrow of Lance’s brow.

“My mom requested more shifts and was barely home enough to sleep, and we were still sinking. I had to apply for those free lunch programs they have a school, and we started going on food stamps, but it wasn’t really enough.” Lance turned his gaze to look at Keith, tear-filled eyes and chin trembling. “So I did what I thought I had to. A lot of places wouldn’t hire a 16 year old with tattered clothes, but I walked into Legendary and felt like I could be someone other than that poor latino kid. And Allura smiled at me like I was sunshine,” Lance closed his eyes and chewed on his lip.

Keith reached out a tentative hand and gently set it on Lance’s shoulder, fingers dipping into the hollow of his collarbone. He could feel Lance’s heavy sighs on his palm and his heartbeat through the tips of his fingers.

“And the pay was amazing,” Lance brightened, but it was a bitter type of smile, curved and hardened with prices and consequences. “But you and I both know that it’s not that easy.”

Keith nodded, trying not to think about how no matter how much better Galra had been to him than his previous home they still weren’t sweet. Haggar’s smiles were harsh and only granted as she held precious organs in her hands; they were smiles Keith paid for in blood and tears. Thace was kind and caring and almost too overbearing, but he knew the duty of the Galra and soon so did Keith. There were the initiation trials where Keith cried over his pulled out fingernails when Sendak had showered him with them, blood hunks of flesh still stuck to them.

There was nothing easy about Galra, nothing easy about a gang.

“I remember my first integration,” Lance whispered, eyes squeezed closed as if he didn’t want to remember. “My first drug deal was easy, all smiles and the unfamiliar weight of a gun. But that first integration was so bloody.” He shivered under Keith’s touch. “It splattered on the window, and Allura beat him into a two week long coma.”

Lance rubbed at his eyes with harsh jarring movements. Keith stumbled forward on his knees to pull away Lance’s hands. His eyes were red rimmed and glossy. Keith set Lance’s wrists down at his sides before charging forward for a hug. He wrapped his arms around Lance’s broad shoulders, feeling the heat of their skin and the harsh huffs of Lance’s breath on his neck.

It took a moment before Lance’s fingers dug into his back, nuzzling his nose against Keith’s neck as he cried. He tried to mumble words, but Keith just shushed him, running a light hand through Lance’s hair. He had never someone to go to for comfort, but holding Lance felt natural.

They stayed like that for a while, holding onto each other like a lifeboat in this city of chaos. And conversation started of things they had done for their respective gangs, things they never imagined as children, the horrors of humanity and what people would do to protect their loved ones. They spoke of their fears, the deep seeded ones that branched into their veins, becoming more integral than their circulatory system. They spoke of so many things until sunlight dusted the horizon and sleep pulled at their eyelashes.

  


****

  


Lance woke with a gritty feeling on his tongue and an ache in his temples. There was warmth wrapped around him even as his hip bone throbbed and his eyes strained against the soft light that poured through the bedroom window. He scratched at his puffy and tired eyes, finally registering that he was still in Keith’s bedroom, television on and Keith still in his arms.

He glanced down and saw that the Galran had wrapped himself around Lance’s torso, head nuzzled into the curve of his neck. Black hair draped kindly against his forehead, framing his face and tired, sunk-in eyes. Lance brushed delicate fingers along Keith’s cheek, pinning stray pieces of hair behind his ear.

He looked innocent like this, with sooty lashes dancing along his cheekbones and lips parted with quiet breaths. Nothing like the man who had pinned him at gunpoint in an alley, threatening to shoot him over a stolen motorcycle. Nothing like the man who sat in the interrogation room with a bloodied and bruised face and a bravado that lolled Lance into complacency. Nothing like the man who had demanded drink after drink in Legendary, ignoring Shiro and beating a man with a shattered glass. But something like that man who had crawled into bed with him and bought him coffee and helped him bartend, more like a man and less like a Galran.

Keith groaned and spun his arms tighter around Lance, and panic quickened his heartbeat.

He had berated Keith about leaving the bed cold and Lance by himself, but here he was debating the same thing. Because Keith was right, they were everything each other couldn’t have.

Allura’s words were heavy in the back of his mind, “ _You’re going to milk him for every last drop of information he has on Galra_.”

“Keith,” he whispered, running a gentle hand down Keith’s ribs to the dip of his surprisingly delicate waist. The other boy just nuzzled deeper into Lance’s neck with a huff. “Keith,” Lance spoke a little louder, unsure if he really wanted to wake him.

Keith’s eyes cracked open, grey like swirling storms and the smoke of wood fires. It took him a moment before he skirted backward, drawing his limbs into himself and blushing an apt shade of pink.

“Lance,” Keith seemed to fumble for his words, voice garbled and strained from sleep. “I - what - didn't mean -” but Keith just stood abruptly, pulling his pajama pants up but a thin strip of his boxer waist and still showed bright red against his pale skin. “Do you want coffee?” Keith cleared his throat and crossed his arms like his shirtlessness was only a problem now he was noticing.

“And some advil for this hangover please,” Lance complained, standing up and stretching out his limbs.

Keith nodded and rushed out of his bedroom and into the kitchen without another word. Lance grabbed the remote and clicked off the TV and stumbled into the bathroom. It had been a while since he had gone a night without his skincare routine, and his skin definitely didn’t appreciate it.

There was an almost full orange bottle of face wash in the shower and Lance grabbed it, washing his face in the sink and brushing his teeth with a little toothpaste squeezed on his finger. He ran his still wet fingers through his hair to tame some of his curls, but the ends curled around his fingers anyway.

He sauntered into the kitchen to the delightful smell of coffee and sizzling eggs. Plopping into a kitchen chair, Lance admired the coiled muscles of Keith’s back.

“Coffee and breakfast,” Lance purred, head resting in his propped up hand, “Almost seems like you’re trying to woo me.”

Keith’s actions faltered for a minute before he shot back, “I’m not the one who came over with a handle and the intention of getting you drunk.” He turned to glare over his shoulder, but his eyes were full of mischief.

It seemed that whatever camaraderie they had developed last night hadn’t faded, and for that Lance was surprisingly grateful.

“You know, Red” Lance sighed, using the nickname to catch his attention, “I’m honestly surprised you have fash wash.”

Keith turned, placing plates down on the table with two forks, spotty from the dishwasher. “I grew up with Shiro, what did you expect?”

Lance opened his mouth to rebut Keith’s comment, but it honestly made a lot of sense. Keith turned back to the stove and flicked it off before carrying the skillet to the table. Lance watched him dump half the eggs on each plate.

He ran a hand on his chin, aching for some moisturizer. Lance sighed, “But you don’t have any moisturizer.”

“Did you even look in the medicine cabinet?” Keith raised a single eyebrow.

And sure enough there was a large bottle of face lotion. When Lance walked back into the kitchen, Keith was sitting at the table, holding his coffee cup in two hands and gazing out the window with a distant look in his eyes. His hair was a mess, curling at the nape of his neck and tickling his ears.

Lance grabbed a mug and poured himself some coffee, but Keith’s gaze didn’t stray from the window. Lance pulled on a strand of his hair while walking back to his seat. His smile was open as he spoke, “You ever going to cut that mullet?”

Keith ran a hand down the back of his neck, mumbling, “It’s not a mullet.”

Lance would have retorted if he wasn’t moaning around a bite of eggs. He shoveled in another forkful before he said something, “How do eggs taste so good?”

“Shiro only knows how to make microwave TV dinners and _charcoal_ ,” Keith laughed, brow relaxed and nostalgic smile on his lips. “So in order to survive living with him, I had to learn how to cook, but it wasn’t like I didn’t know the basics before coming to Galra.”

Lance perked up at that information. Keith had never hinted at why he had come to Galra, left his own family - the blood that Lance had fought and killed for - to join a band of strangers that he felt more love and companionship with.

Keith’s brows hung heavy over his eyes, mouth set in a dangerous scowl at the sight of Lance’s piqued curiosity. So Lance switched the focus back to the food and away from Keith’s past by pointing at the eggs enthusiastically.

“But these can’t be normal eggs.” With a dramatic gasp, Lance narrowed his eyes and leaned forward as if integrating him, but there was a playful smile to his words that he couldn’t hold back. “And I thought lacing food with drugs was an Altean thing.”

Keith laughed at that, open and bright. It was nice to be able to joke about things like this, things that they had grown up with and grown too accustomed to. And at the sight of Keith’s smile, dimpled and radiant, Lance almost choked. He reached for the coffee to take his first sip only to still.

“It’s not,” He swirled the liquid in the cup, “Poisoned, is it?”

Keith’s smile faltered. “No, of course not. That’s an Altean thing.” He winked slightly going along with the joke. But his motions stilled, and he scratched the back of his neck with nervousness. “Sorry about that last time too.”

Lance merely shrugged and took a sip. At his grimace, Keith pushed a sugar bowl in his direction. Lance ignored the small gasp of horror from Keith as he shoveled heaps of sugar into his mug. Keith tried to snatch the bowl back with a witty comment, but Lance just laughed and attempting to dig the spoon back in past Keith’s covering fingers.

And that was how Pidge found them, laughing and fighting over a bowl of sugar across the kitchen table. She paused in the doorway with Matt leaning to peer over her shoulder.

Lance dropped the spoon to the table with a sheepish grin, “Hi Pidge.”

“God, if I’d known there’d be this much PDA I wouldn’t have come over,” she joked, walking into the kitchen and perching herself on the countertop, legs swinging and eyes crinkling with humor.

“Then why did you come over, Katie?” Keith asked, ignoring her joke at their relationship by picking up his plate and putting it in the dishwasher. Lance saw the sudden rise of goosebumps on his arms, eyes tracing the bare skin of Keith’s arms and torso.

Her smile was devious as she leaned back. “I thought it was only fair to mock your horrible performance in Battlefield in person.”

Matt and Keith both coughed a laugh, and Lance felt his cheeks turn a heady shade of red as he took a sip, hiding behind his coffee. Matt sat down on one of the empty chairs, arms crossed and expression so similar to Pidge’s it gave him chills. Matt leaned closer to Lance, faux whisper to his voice, “It was you playing wasn’t it?”

“Keith!” Pidge snapped, looking at him in horror, “You wouldn’t even let me touch your xbox.”

“That was because you wanted to add ‘upgrades.’” Keith rolled his eyes with a small smile, cracking fresh eggs into the sizzling sauce pan. “And in my defense, he got me drunk first.”

Pidge’s eyes narrowed and her gaze whipped to Lance’s, sparking under her glasses. Her suspicion was dark and protective as if she had heard every order Allura had given him, every coo and threatening slap.

“No wonder his movement sucked,” Matt commented, relieving some of the winding tension in the room.

“Even I was surprised how many times you shot into a wall,” Pidge picked at her nails with sharp movements, “Some people in chat debated on reporting you for botting.”

Keith groaned, sliding eggs onto two clean plates and handing one to each Pidge and Matt.

Lance shrugged, chagrin smile set in place despite the creeping chills up his spine, “What can I say? Hunk and I are more Wii people.”

Conversation was normal after that, even though Pidge kept looking at him with an analytical gaze, especially after Matt found the bottle of tequila chilling in the fridge.

“Jose Cuervo, Lance?” Pidge commented, eyes rolling as soon as she saw the half empty bag of limes on the counter. “Really?”

Lance just shrugged, ignoring the hot blush or the way Keith’s laugh made the blush deeper.

After some more quiet conversation, Matt picked up Lance’s jacket from where he had thrown it into the hallway late last night, “Lance, is this yours?” The hunter green jacket was limp in Matt’s hands, but it still made the Altean cringe as a blaring reminder of last night and all the messages he probably had from Allura.

“Yeah,” Lance mumbled, grabbing it from Matt’s hold and plucking out his phone, leaving the small bags of weed in the inner pocket. 27 text messages and 5 missed calls. Thankfully more than half of the calls were from Hunk, but the majority of the text messages were from Allura.

Princess: _next will come to the same spot in an hour. Treat yourself to something from 7-11 on me._  
Princess: _what’s this I hear about you not being there?_  
Princess: _Blue. Answer me._  
Princess: _There better be a good explanation as to why I had to cancel all deals for tonight. I couldn’t even send another runner since I received no warning from you. This is the most unprofessional that you’ve ever been. A child has more respect for our organization that you do._  
Princess: _I am thoroughly disappointed in you, Blue._  
Princess: _If you thought my threat of sticking you in the treasury was a just a threat, you were wrong. Two weeks worth of treasury work._

Lance cringed at every message he scrolled through. He wasn’t sure if he should answer now or wait until he was in front of her and could beg for forgiveness on his knees. He had been assigned to treasury once before, and didn’t want to remember the amount of papercuts he had gotten or the soreness to his fingertips or the cocaine residue sticking to his palms.

Princess: _Do not make me have Pidge track your phone._  
Princess: _Please just be safe, Blue, and answer me when you can._

And there were several more threatening messages, but they all conveyed a tone of worry, because the last time he had gone radio silent, Keith had pretended to beat him in this very kitchen.

He typed out a quick response.

Lance: _Sorry, Princess. Couldn’t meet with anyone after my first client. I went to Red’s._

He didn’t expect her to respond so quickly.

Princess: _You better make up the money and time you wasted with information, Blue._  
Princess: _Glad you’re safe._

He shoved his phone deep into his pants pocket and ignored the way his stomach clenched, looking at the way Keith laughed so freely with Matt and Pidge on either side of him. His pale hands cleaning the pan as Matt begged for more food, those fingers that had held him close and shushed him as he cried, comforted and soothed him.

Lance rose from his seat, stretching out with a quick crack of his back. “Well I better get going before Allura hands me my ass.”

Pidge chuckled behind her hand, “Good luck. You’re going to need it.” And the look in Pidge’s eyes told him that he most surely would need the luck.

Lance saluted, shrugging on his jacket and marching towards the door.

“Wait!” Keith called, grabbing the tequila from the fridge and holding it out to Lance.

“Nah,” Lance swatted his hands before popping a cigarette between his lips, noting the way Keith followed the way his lips curled around the unlit bud. “Keep it for next time.” And without waiting to hear Keith’s response he strode through the door, popping up his hood and lighting his cigarette with the flick of his lighter.

Yeah, he would most certainly need luck to get through his meeting with Allura.

  


****

  


“Stop acting like it’s a big deal, Katie,” Keith cut off, shoving the tequila back into the fridge.

“Oh, so it’s a not a big deal that Lance just came over last night and you drank and played xbox until 3am?” Her tone was curt, knowing and berating for all the things that Keith didn’t want to admit.

“I’m going to change,” Keith sighed, marching off towards his bedroom.

Katie tried to say something else, but Keith cut her off with the slam of the door. He slumped against the wall with a sigh. He was trying not to make it a big deal, not to relish in the serenity it was to wake up next to Lance, the warmth and gentle caress of his fingers. Or how it was to have a casual breakfast and learn his little quirks like how he ate his eggs with ketchup or had more sugar than coffee in his cup. Or how he mumbled in his sleep and curled his legs around Keith and set his cheek on top of Keith’s head.

He flung his pajamas to the corner of his room, wanting to forget all about the night and the temptation to smell Lance on his skin and clothes.

  


****

  


Lance found Allura where she always was, perched on a bar stool with sharp stilettos waving and a cold drink in one hand. Paperwork was spread all around her on the bar, thankfully the bar was closed until 5. He sauntered in, hands deep in pockets and sweat slicking the length of his spine.

“And what do I have this pleasure?” He flirted, eyes twinkling and ignoring the panicked jump to Hunk’s hands as he stood behind the bar. Lance had texted him on the way over, attempting to explain the events of the night in as little words as possible.

“I think I should be the one asking that, Blue,” Allura purred, not looking up as she filtered through her paperwork. “Seeing that you feel the right to disrespect my time and orders, so I guess it is a pleasure to see that you finally have time in your schedule to see me.”

Lance didn’t even try to hide the grimace at her words. He slumped on the chair next to her, running hands through his hair with worrying fingers. “I’m sorry.” His words were a whisper, barely audible over the shuffle of papers and squeaking of cleaning glasses. “I just couldn’t.” He exhaled, throat tight and eyes squeezed so closed he saw flashes of light, colored like the alley of 7-11 and Marcelo’s confident smile. “He’s my little brother.”

Allura shuffled her papers before setting them down on the bar with a heavy sigh. “Altea is your family, Lance.” Her fingers were a gentle press on his shoulder. “We protect those we love, so I cannot be that angry at your response to this situation. However, I am disappointed with how you dealt with it.”

Lance tilted up his head, viewing her bright smile between tendrils of hair and wide spread fingers. She didn’t have to say anything else, he knew what the twist of her smile was asking, how she had whispered into the shell of his ear all night until the buzz of tequila had silenced her.

With a crack of his neck and tired eyes, Lance rolled his head back to meet Allura’s expectant gaze.

“Lotor has won over the majority of the Galra. He’s very charismatic and manipulative,” Allura rolled her eyes as if extraordinarily familiar with Lotor’s personality and habits, “And they seem to be moving forward with different tactics than Zarkon had initiated. Something about recruits?” Lance scratched at the back of head, searching his slumber and alcohol blurred memories, tinted by the heat of Keith’s body and the heavy weight of his limbs.

Allura’s eyes brightened at the information, pulling a pencil from the tight bun of her starlight hair. On the back of a printed paper, she scribbled a few things in looping cursive, looking like another language.

“Anything else?”

Ignoring the twist of his stomach, Lance searched his fuzzy memory for information other than the way Keith’s fingers felt on skin or the dimples in Keith’s cheeks or the ethereal chime of his his laughter, echoing and bright. So he told her everything, the small secrets Keith had whispered with tequila and limes on his breath. Her smile only grew, and Lance couldn’t meet Hunk’s gaze.

She waved him off when she was finished with him, and he stumbled home to nurse his still aching hangover.

  


****

  


Keith: _I’ll be reporting in_

Second: _Prince will be expecting you at 3_

Katie and Matt had stayed just long enough to give him curious and withering gazes while speaking about Lance’s presence in his apartment. But he couldn’t really say more than that they were friends, and how letting Lance in when he wore such a tired, forced smile was something any friend would do.

Matt raised a curious eyebrow. “Friends?”

“Yeah,” was all Keith volunteered, distracting himself with dishes before kicking them out when he needed to shower.

They didn’t say more, but their expressions promised further discussion, especially from Matt who had only heard bits and pieces of Keith’s previous meetings with Lance.

The shower was a level of scalding that made him grind his teeth and forget about everything for a minute, the blissful ignorance of a weightless life, free from expectations and responsibilities.

But three o’clock came much too soon.

He was standing in front of the warehouse, Red parked a couple blocks away under a security camera and around a frequently visited department store. His hands were buried deep in his pockets, winds of the approaching winter sneaking up the open sleeves of his leather jacket and around the red scarf Katie had “knit” him for Christmas a couple years back.

The small metal door squealed as he opened it. Acxa stood poised by the door, arms full of paperwork. Without a second thought, he was scooping half of the papers from her arms, receiving a grateful smile, and together they walked into Lotor’s office.

Acxa tapped softly against the door, pinning the papers against her chest with one hand and a raised thigh.

“Enter,” Lotor’s voice was curt nothing like the sultry, charismatic tones Keith was accustomed to.

He entered several steps behind Acxa.

Lotor was lounging in his chair, feet perched on his desk and laptop balanced on his knees. He wore ripped black jeans, gripping tight to his long, lithe legs. His shirt was a big grey sweater that dipped down one shoulder, revealing more of his alabaster skin. Purple clips held back his hair, braided and interwoven with little flower clips.

Acxa dropped the papers on his desk without ceremony.

The Prince of Galra’s eyes jumped up to see Keith standing in the threshold. Rather than being surprised at his presence, several minutes early, he simply closed his laptop and plopped his feet on the ground. He laced his fingers together and set them atop the piles of papers after Acxa snatched the papers from Keith’s hands and added them to the stack.

Keith’s eyes fixated on the braid that dipped over Lotor’s shoulder. It was strange to see Lotor as such, always parading around in pressed shirts and pants, looking like the picture of elegance and stature.

Lotor caught the direction of his stare. “Ezor likes to experiment,” he commented with the wave of his hand. “When she isn’t shadowing Haggar, she’s,” And Keith was surprised to see Lotor fumble for his words, as if debating the most accurate, as he always seemed to be so eloquent, “Exuberant.”

Acxa rolled her eyes, features pinched as if she had something to add, but she focused on making a pot of coffee, movements stiff and irritated.

Lotor ushered Keith to the chair in front of his desk, and simply met Keith’s gazes with narrowed eyes and the shadow of a victorious smile on his face. He waited for Keith to speak, aware that he would. Eventually.

“It’s about our deal.”

“Deal?” Lotor’s voice was a shade of humor, dark and malicious. “If you recall correctly, Kogane, you are merely completing your duties as a member of Galra.”

Keith ground his teeth, eyebrows lowering and nails sinking into armrests of the chair. “But Shiro and Lance -”

“So you have information to give me?” Lotor smiled, plucking up a piece of paperwork and flipping it over, pen dancing between his fingers before the end settled between his lips in contemplation. His nod was small, encouraging.

Acxa placed a cup of coffee in front of Lotor. The other she handed Keith with the ghost of a smile. He unfurled his hand to grasp the mug, warm in his fingers, grounding. He exhaled sharply, running his free hand through his barely-damp hair.

“I met with Lance,” he began, fumbling around the point, around the information Lance had whispered to him in the depths of the night as their breaths mixed and the smell of alcohol tainted the room and made their blood buzz. “Altea don’t seem to be planning any major front to Galra in the light of Zarkon’s death.” He spoke with enough force and insensitivity to cut, but Lotor’s face never faltered, the pen only tapping on his lip. “There was no talk of quintessence, and on a previous meeting, Lance wasn’t even sure what it was.”

Keith finished his speech with a small sip of his coffee.

“Is that all?” Lotor asked, tone implying that there should be more. Keith stumbled, holding the mug with two hands in front of his lips. The Prince tossed his pen to the desk with a huff. “Nyma could have told me as such, Kogane. You have a direct connection to one of Allura’s top agents.” He shook his head and massaged a temple with annoyance. “And yet this is how you choose to waste your intelligence.”

“I don’t know what kind of information you’re even looking for,” Keith snapped, gripping the coffee cup so hard the liquid threatened to spill on the front of his leather jacket.

Lotor flipped over the paper and began reading it, ignoring Keith with cool practice and disappointment painted on the slump of his shoulders and the slope of his neck. A jolt of fear electrofied his system. Lotor had not been blunt in his threats during their last conversation; he had never defined explicitly the manner of which harm would befall Lance or the fact that he knew exactly where Shiro was, but it didn’t need to be stated. Keith’s imagination was more creative than anything Lotor could have said.

“Allura and Shiro are dating,” Keith blurted, enjoying the sudden tilt of Lotor’s head and the mischievous smile that crept, “But they’re currently fighting over Shiro’s final trial.”

“So she kept him around even after she found out he was Galran,” Lotor hummed, eyes flashing with a cruelty that was normally disguised in the smallest movements. He nodded, looking back at the paperwork. “Acxa, can you debrief him about his newest assignment?”

Keith rose to his feet as Acxa stood at his right, and gestured for them to exit. There was a lightness to his chest, fighting the heavy weights that pulled on his ribs, dangling into his stomach like waves of nausea.

Had Lotor received all the information he needed? At the expense of Shiro, was Keith finally free?

“Oh and Keith,” Lotor’s voice was sweet, sugary with a dash of cream. Keith turned to see the small grin on his face, “I look forward to hearing from you next week.” He winked as if to conclude business, eyes trailing over Keith’s body, settling on the definition of his ass in his jeans before darting back to meet Keith’s eyes with a devilious lick of his lips.

Acxa cleared her throat, and Lotor turned his full attention back to his work, allowing Keith to walk out of the room, only haunted by the weight of Lotor’s eyes.

She led Keith to the front door before handing him a small envelope. “Your next assignment.” And with that she turned back into the building.

The envelope seemed to make him swerve while driving home, such a heavy and distracting force in his pocket.

Keith sat at his kitchen table, staring at the envelope with anxiety burning his fingertips and heart hammering against its delicate lining. With swift movements hiding the tremble of his fingers, he tore the envelope open at the end. Several papers tumbled out and he grabbed the first one.

He read it. Once. Twice. Three times before he stood and grabbed Lance’s tequila bottle from the fridge. He uncapped it and took an enormous swig, head tossed back and mind searching for anything that would dim the explosion in his arteries.

_Red,_

_Please find our newest patient a new liver._

_Type:_   
_Blood Type: A+_  
_Size: Male, 200lbs_

_Tissue tests to confirm eligibility will be performed after recruitment. The offer is $500,000._

_Best,_  
_Prince_

He fumbled for his phone, tequila bottle slipping to the table with a slosh. He sunk to the ground, crouching in front of his stove, knees tucked to his chest.

“Hello?”

“Shiro?” Keith whimpered, “How did you do it?”

Shiro’s voice was panicked, everything that Keith remembered from the darkness of nights when he was growing up. The comfort he sought after every issue at Galra, lost fingernails or Haggar’s disapproval. It was home, a presence this apartment severely lacked. “Keith?”

“How did you ask someone to die?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to give a **HUGE** shout out to Lyrikin! Please go check out her [tumblr](http://lyrikin.tumblr.com)! She currently has emergency commissioning going on as of December 5th, 2017! So go commission her, she's an amazing artist and amazing to work with! More info [here](http://lyrikin.tumblr.com/post/168209131578/emergency-traditional-commissions-as-you-already)!!
> 
> Please come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and sticking through all of my sporadic updates!! I will hopefully be updating more frequently since I already have more content written!
> 
> Kudos and comments mean the absolute world to me <3


	5. Char

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _slides into your dms_ hello my lovelies! Please do not look at how long this chapter took to be posted, please only look at how I've delivered you almost 20k. I'm sorry!!!!
> 
> Thank you for bearing with me and my incredibly slow updates!! I hope you enjoy the chapter!! <3

“Lance?” Hunk’s voice was warm despite the chill that blew through the door. Lance was perched on the couch, Wii remote balanced in hand with a twizzler dangling out of his mouth. Pidge sat on an overstuffed chair, blankets folded around her like she had simply grown to be a the furniture, rather than arriving only twenty minutes ago with a smile and a “hi” before barreling into the room and into her chair.

Lance met Hunk’s eyes as he hung up his hat, scarf, and jacket on the coat rack positioned right by the front door. Hunk narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and if Lance had been brave enough to meet his gaze at Legendary earlier that day, he would’ve received the same look: brow furrowed, eyes smarting with anger, jaw set and teeth clenched.

“Hey buddy!” Lance joyously greeted him, bringing his eyes back to the TV just in time to avoid a red shell in his game of Mario Kart. His heart constricted at the thought of Hunk confronting him, because for as comforting and friendly as he was, he was nosy and concerned and never knew how to mind his own business. “How was the rest of your shift? Happy hour treat you okay?”

The streetlamps slowly illuminated with a flicker before a burst of yellowed light. The city got darker earlier with each passing day, as winter was soon upon them.

Hunk’s gaze narrowed. “So you’re just going to pretend I didn’t hear your conversation with Allura, aren’t you?”

“What?” Pidge piped up, interested piqued with eyes glinting behind the big frames of her glasses.

“Nothing, just work,” Lance cut off, knowing that if Pidge heard, it was only a matter of time before Keith hunted him down with gritted teeth, a gun, and a myriad of curses and threats.

Hunk stood before the TV screen only to receive a small shriek from Lance in return, hands swiping the air as if he could push Hunk out of the way. With a small huff, Lance paused the game, crossing his arms and sinking back into the comfort of the couch.

Stepping forward towards Lance, Hunk snapped, “So you’re spying on Keith?”

“What?” Pidge growled, voice darker and verging on threatening. Pulling from the comfort of her chair, she placed her computer down on the coffee table, almost as a warning of what she could do to Lance with or without her technology.

Lance groaned, thrusting his hands deep into his hair. “I didn’t know what to do.” His voice was a soft plea.

“But telling Allura everything Keith tells you in confidence is what you choose?” Pidge berates, not even waiting for the rest of Lance’s explanation. Hunk looked a little aghast at her hostility, and her quick assumption of everything Hunk had heard today at Legendary. Lance peered at the redness of her high cheekbones and the way her glasses settled low on her nose.

“She didn’t give me a choice, Pidge,” Lance sighed, hands falling to his sides limply.

But of course there was a choice. The treasury wasn’t as bad as the permanent nausea that had lined his stomach since speaking with Allura or as bad as the way the memories of last night turned from treasured friends - were they simply just friends? Lance had run his hands through Keith’s hair and splayed his hands on the bare expanse of Keith’s chest with too much familiarity for friendship - to sour betrayal.

He couldn’t deny the way he had sought to please Allura, sought to be the perfect Altean member. It was his way of seeking success, the success that had been denied him because of the prejudices that surrounded his family: his race, his economic status, his sexuality. Altea and Allura had given him the acceptance he had once fought so hard to achieve. Was it so bad to give her his loyalty?

“And it’s information about Galra, not Keith, so -” Lance wanted to defend himself, but his argument was cut short by the hitch of his breath and the weight of his actions rattling around in his chest.

“Are you friends with Keith just because of Allura’s order?” Hunk’s voice was curt but still holding an edge of curiosity, since he didn’t have same relationship with Keith as Pidge to warrant the her level of hostility.

Lance snorted, “Fuck no. That guy’s too much trouble for that.” But his voice held a fondness that Pidge seemed to register as she settled back into her chair, pulling her computer back to her lap. But Hunk froze at the tone, arms falling to his sides and swinging.

“Lance?”

“Yeah?” Lance chuckled, leaning on the armrest, feeling a little relieved to have his friends support. The weights a little lighter. The burden a little less.

“You like him.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. And Hunk’s face echoed the same horror it had the morning after Keith’s first trip to Legendary, when Lance had woken to an empty bed and a breakfast of eggs made by Hunk. When they had the same conversation, and Lance’s denial was as similar as the bubble of butterflies in his throat and thundering in his chest with fragile wings.

Lance sighed and rolled his eyes, attempting to play off his surprise and the sudden constriction of his lungs. “Hunk, we’re just friends.”

Hunk shook his head, taking a step forward with eyes narrowed. Lance turned to Pidge as if to ask for support, but she was observing him, head tilted to the side and lip bitten in thought.

“You guys can’t be serious.” Lance laughed, but his voice was too high, constricted and tight and everything that he was not. He was free flowing and buoyancy and long laughs over stupid puns and bad punchlines. And him liking Keith was definitely the stupidest joke the universe could make.

“Lance -”

“What would admitting I like him do?” Lance asked, body uncurling from the couch, “Would it make this situation in any better? Would it make it easier to lie to Keith and make him trust me as I sell all of his secrets to Allura for the sake of my family and myself?”

Lance rose from the couch, ignoring the sudden slump of Hunk’s shoulders or the way Pidge’s mouth formed around words that he cut her off from saying. “I’m the ‘Silver-Tongued Lance McClain’ or whatever the fuck. Keith even told me himself that I could convince anyone of anything!” His words were syrupy, straining his throat to the point of pain.

“So what if I wanted to go hang out with him? What if I wanted to go somewhere that I was anything but Altean?” Lance didn’t meet Pidge’s eyes when they glinted with sympathy, an understanding that couldn’t be mimicked. They both knew what it was like to want to be anything other that what you once chose to be, the regret and devastation at your own actions.

Lance sunk back to the edge of the couch, fingers twisting in the curling ends of his his hair. “Just Marcelo,” and that was all he could say before his words were strangled exhales. Hunk placed a delicate hand on Lance’s shoulder, sitting on the coffee table and attempting to meet Lance’s gaze. He felt Pidge’s presence sink into the couch next to him before she wrapped thin arms around his stomach, setting her forehead against his shoulder.

“I fucked up, and there’s nothing I can do,” Lance mumbled, and there was nothing the others could say.

He had joined Altea to protect his family, but here he was only injuring them further.

  


****

  


Keith had gotten Shiro’s number from Katie after the night at Legendary, begged her and told her Shiro’s instruction to get his number from someone. She simply raised an eyebrow, but when Keith brought up details about how going to Legendary again was a horrible idea, she relented.

Shiro’s voice was an anchor as the buzz of alcohol commandeered his system, swishing in his blood and fogging his mind.

“Keith, what happened?” The soft qualities of Shiro’s voice were dashed by the urgency that resonated through the receiver of his cellphone.

“Has Lotor _always_ been such an ass?” Keith asked, answering Shiro’s question without answering him directly. There was always the potential that someone could be listening to his phone calls - that one of Lotor’s “Generals” had the potential to almost hear the thoughts of all the Galrans.

Shiro growled slightly before attempting to speak. “Has he -”

“He flirts with me every time we have a meeting,” Keith detailed, head lolling to the side as his grip on the handle of tequila slipped. His caution for potential phone-tapping faded behind rising song of the alcohol in his blood. “And it’s weird flirting. Like too direct but also strangely subtle.”

There was silence for a second as if Shiro was trying to process what he was saying.

“Do you think if I slept with him I’d be like ‘Prince of Galra’ too?” Keith laughed, but his mind imagined Lotor above him, smiling as he did, without it reaching his eyes. His braid brushing Keith’s collarbone as he slowly plucked colorful clips from Lotor’s hair.

Would his fingers be cold as he slowly dragged off Keith’s clothes? Would it be anything like the intellectual battles Keith struggled to engage in - the battles that he always lost? Would it be like losing? A sense of defeat that echoed through his whole body as Lotor loomed over him wiping sweat off his brow and flopping back on the bed, legs tucked up enough so that their skin didn’t brush, avoiding any echos of intimacy.

“If you sleep with Lotor, I will invade Galra territory just to beat your senseless ass,” Shiro growled in a way that Keith knew was absolutely serious. It was the tone Shiro used when Keith came home after the first initiation trial, a single fingernail missing and bleeding, without having said anything about taking the trials before. The tone Shiro used when he asked him that final question in the middle of the night before he left.

Keith laughed at the tone, knowing full well that he agreed. “Yeah, he’s probably as slimy as he talks.”

“Keith!” Shiro’s voice was tense, cutting and worried. Keith paused, spine slumping and eyes rolling shut. “Please talk to me. What happened?” A whisper, pleading and desperate.

Keith knocked back the tequila instead, relishing in the burn of his throat and lungs and the way his eyes watered and tracked tears down his cheeks.

“How are you and Allura doing?” Keith asked the second the bottle left his lips. He sloppily wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “I mean we haven’t talked in like a year. I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.” He didn’t mean for his voice to break or to sound as strangled as his heart felt.

He couldn’t admit to Shiro how hard he’d searched, covered ground on Red and on his feet until his soles blistered. How he woke every morning searching for the scent of coffee or the sudden gurgle of the water pipes. How he went to bed every night, listening for the sound of a key in the door or slow, padded footsteps down the hallway. He couldn’t admit to how he almost fell apart without the grounding force of Shiro - how the Galra tugged him in a million directions that he was tempted to follow without the draw of finding Shiro.

“We’re fine,” Shiro sighed, seemingly consenting to the fact that disappearing didn’t earn him the right to Keith’s feelings. He had always been patient with Keith, respecting his space and slow pacing.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” Keith murmured under his breath, knowing full well that Shiro would hear him.

“She doesn’t agree with my old lifestyle.”

Keith burst out laughing, head falling back and shoulders shaking. “You say that as if you were once a Republican and Allura’s a Democrat! Not in her fucking rival gang.” And Shiro began to laugh as well. There was a familiarity that made nostalgia rot in his stomach, settling low and making him swallow back bile.

“Honestly, I was couch hopping for two weeks, because I wanted to give her space. But nothing much has changed since then. She’s been distant and moody and refuses to be intimate with me anymore.”

Keith gagged a little, loud enough for Shiro to hear. “Didn’t need to know that.”

“Not even sex wise, but emotionally.” Shiro exclaimed, and as if the dam had broken, the words kept flowing. “She used to taunt and tease before, but now everything is malicious like - like she wants to hurt me for who I used to be. And I don’t know what to do. I can’t go back and change things, and even if I could, I don’t know if I would.” There was a fondness to his voice that made Keith’s inhale stutter in his chest.

“I’ll fucking kill her if she hurts you,” Keith growled, not even thinking twice about the words - knowing full well how it felt to kill someone, watching the life drain from their limbs, sitting in the shower afterward as the water dyed a dusty pink, and no matter how hot the water was, the trembling wouldn’t stop.

“Please,” Shiro sighed. And Keith knew exactly what Shiro was begging for him to do. It was an answer just like that that had driven Shiro away.

So Keith swallowed his sudden burst of anger, rolling his tongue in his mouth before continuing. “So if time hasn’t been helping, you probably need to prove to her that,” Keith scrunched his face, searching for the right words, “You aren’t the Champion of Galra anymore. You’re Takashi of Altea.”

“Black.” Shiro corrected, “Black is my name here.”

“I would say that’s a horrible name, but -” Keith cut himself off with a laugh, and Shiro joined in. It was a kind of camaraderie Keith missed, the closeness and comfortable silences and unspoken understanding.

Well, there had probably been less understanding that he realized. Shiro had left, after all.

But a single talk with Shiro wouldn’t fix everything that had happened between the two of them or the position Keith stood in Galra right now. Even so, Keith cradled the tequila bottle and let the soft whispers of Shiro’s voice lull him into a transient place of peace.

  


****

  


The next few days had been peaceful and slightly uncomfortable. Pidge and Hunk acted almost cloyingly sweet, like Lance was some fragile thing. Like everything he had admitted made him brittle and weak. But he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed their softness and their constant comfort, because in moments of quiet his mind drifted to Marcelo dangling the bag of weed, shoving stolen money into Lance’s chest, and running off. Or to Keith smiling with dimpled cheeks and the warm heat of his skin.

So he was relieved to go into work to have something to distract him.

When Lance walked into Legendary ready for one of his shifts, he saw Takashi pacing the floor in front of the bar, speaking adamantly on the phone. Lance was excited to work more shifts, because it meant more income and money going towards his family - although the thought of his family made his stomach roil after everything Marcelo had admitted last week.

Even the dinging of the opening door didn’t pull Takashi from his intense conversation. He slammed a hand on the bar. “I don’t give a shit about that! You have to go see him.” He growled, and Lance took a step back, intimidated by Takashi’s new presence. He had always been so calm around Allura, a fraction of the self he must have been as one of the Galran strong arms. And watching the furrow of his brow and the snarl of his lips, broad shouldered and muscled, he was every bit the picture of intimation.

He sunk to one of the barstools, shoulders slumping and Lance took a step forward, worry crafting into his features. “I’m just worried about him,” Takashi sighed before nodding a couple times and hanging up the phone with a curt, “Fine. Bye.”

“Hey Takashi,” Lance spoke, walking forward and shuking off his coat and slinging it over his arm. He flinched at Lance’s entrance.

“Lance,” he straightened in his seat, fighting a blush, “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

With a seize of his stomach, Lance knew that he could play this off, pretend like he didn’t hear anything and erase the worry from Takashi’s face. But the way Takashi had spoken frightened Lance. It wasn’t something he could easily ignore.

“Is it Keith?”

Takashi shook his head with a sigh, obviously ignoring whatever was bothering him with a quick repainting of his features, smoothing out all of the worry lines that had started to leave impressions in his aging face. “It’s nothing. Let’s get ready for the dinner rush.”

Lance knew when to push it, so he threw his coat on the couch of the employee’s room, donning a debonair smile. Takashi threw his phone onto the couch as if irritated by the very thought of its presence on his person. Holding open the door to the bar, he motioned for Lance to go first, but he grabbed the door from behind Takashi’s muscular back and dramatically pointed towards the bar, “After you, my liege.”

“Lance,” Takashi groaned with a hint of humor in his voice that Lance took as a small victory.

Dinner went smoothly with the help of Takashi’s experience, quickly dealing with an issues that arose.

With a sigh, Lance settled into the couch in the back room, nursing a glass filled with lemonade and melting ice cubes. He dipped his head back and pulled his feet up on the coffee table, resting them as they dully ached with each beat of his heart.

A distant buzz made Lance slap his hand down on the couch, searching for the ringing phone. He picked it up by the corner, glancing at the messages on the screen before realizing it wasn’t his.

Matt: _I went to his apartment_  
Matt: _but as I told you before, he didn’t answer. Pretended to be out or asleep or something. (눈_눈)_  
Matt: _I’m sure he’s fine, Shiro_

Lance quickly dropped Takashi’s phone back to the couch, fingers recoiling at the thought of being caught snooping through his boss’ messages. His mind was spinning, searching for an answer in his hurricane of thoughts. He’d just seen Keith, held him through the night and memorized the curve of his dimpled cheeks and subtle smile. And now he wasn’t even opening the door for Matt.

Plucking his phone from his pocket, he started a message to Keith without thinking.

Lance: [DRAFT] _hey, haven’t heard from you. Wondering how you’re doing_

Blinking, he looked at his message again. With hurried fingers, he deleted the message feeling blush creep up the back of his neck and a small fluttering of butterflies in his stomach. Was it always this hard to message Keith?

He almost snorted a laugh at the thought. When had messaging Keith ever been _easy_?

With a roll of his eyes, he just typed whatever the hell he was thinking, not even attempting to be reserved or stay within the fragile confines of their relationship.

Lance: [DRAFT] _hey Keith. I’d heard from Takashi that you won’t leave your apartment, and idk but I’m just worried about you. Just wanted to make sure you were alright and not in need of any more limes or something haha_

With a huffed sigh, Lance settled his head back on the couch, closing his eyes and attempting to tune out the low hum of the bar noise.

The door swung open and Takashi’s voice startled him out of his stupor. “Lance, break’s over.” Jolting to an upright position, Lance nodded with a flustered smile on his face. He jumped to his feet, gripping his phone and strutting out of the room before shoving it back into his pocket.

The bar closed with a slow exhale, the snuff of a candle. Takashi was finishing cleaning off the bar as Lance raised a hand in a two-finger salute before exiting into the cold night. He quickly burrowed his face into the neck of his jacket. Digging his freezing hands into his pockets, his fingers danced along the edge of his phone.

His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out to see a message from Pidge.

Pidge: _Hunk says to grab butter on your way home_  
Lancey-Lance: _fiiiiiiiine (--_--)_

Before he locked his phone screen, he noticed another message notification. Furrowing his brow, he thumbed open a message from Keith.

Keith: _we would need another handle too. I may have finished this one._

Lance’s fingers clenched around his phone, tightening and stuttering as he scanned the draft of a message that he never meant to send. The embarrassing message that had mostly definitely _sent_.

Without thought, he was calling Keith, pressing the receiver to his ear. It rang four times before he answered with a gruff, “What?”

“You owe me ten bucks,” Lance joked, tipping his head back and starting to walk away from his apartment. Towards Paladin Park. Towards Galra territory. Towards Keith.

“Lance,” Keith sighed, but the Altean cut him off before he could continue.

Chuckling puffs of fog into the air, Lance smirked, “It may have only been José, but it was mine and you drank half of it.”

There was a silence Lance didn’t expected. He anticipated Keith’s fiery comebacks, his snappish temper and endless determination. But this silent contemplative side of Keith, Lance had only seen flit around the corners of his gaze in the quiet night when Keith was sure he wasn’t looking.

“Sorry, I’ll give Katie $10 the next time I see her.” His voice was hollow like a defeated sigh.

“Oh, but I’m already almost at your place.” Lance chuckled at the small growl that sounded through the receiver of his phone. Admittedly, he was still twenty minutes away, but Keith didn’t need to know that.

“I won’t let you in.”

Lance couldn’t fight his smile, and it sounded in his tone, “But Keithy.” And the Galra golden boy hung up. Smirking, he shook his head and typed a quick message to Pidge.

Lancey-Lance: _Can’t pick up butter_  
Lancey-Lance: _On my way to Keith’s_  
Pidge: _oh. Have fun. Be safe. Remember condoms._  
Lancey-Lance: _PIDGE!! (╬ Ò﹏Ó)_  
Pidge: _also, if Keith wants to be an exhibitionist tonight, try not to get killed by the Galra_  
Lancey-Lance: _(⊙_⊙)_  
Lancey-Lance: _okay I 800% did not need to know that about Keith_

Shaking his head, Lance shoved his phone back into his pocket, knowing Pidge was just trying to get a rise out of him, to rile him up before seeing Keith. And even though he tried not to picture Keith beneath him, he failed - eyes losing focus and thoughts drifting to inky hair stuck to Keith’s sweaty forehead and dusted across his eyes, lidded with lust rather than exhaustion. That confident smirk replaced with trembling, kissed-pink lips. Swallowing quiet moans and the broken sounds reminiscent of Lance’s name. And Keith would shiver at every reminder that someone could walk in on them and every whispered word from Lance.

Lance would lean in close, kissing the length of Keith’s neck and enjoying the way he quivered at every fleeting touch. Relishing in the way his fingers could travel the length of Keith’s body. The anticipation of discovery only tightening the coil of arousal buried low in his stomach.

Lance paused on the sidewalk, cold air sneaking under the hem of his jacket and frosting bitter fingers along the heated skin of his fluttering stomach.

He was going to kill Pidge.

His hand shook slightly as he knocked on Keith’s door, fighting off the sudden onslaught of imagined images.

The door swung open to show Keith in sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, collar stretched with holes decorating the hem. His hair was tied in a small ponytail in an attempt to hide the oil that glinted in the overhead lights.

Without a word, Keith ushered him inside his small apartment. Crossing his arms, Keith marched into the kitchen, sinking into his chair - the one he always seemed to take when Lance was over - and glancing over Lance’s person.

“You didn’t bring tequila.”

“And you haven’t left your house,” Lance countered, ignoring the gruff edge to Keith’s voice. The Galra boy only rolled his eyes and sunk further into the chair like he was pouting. Pulling out the chair opposite him, Lance perched on the edge, resting his hands on the table and acting for nonchalance. “I overhead Takashi talking with Matt.”

“Shiro needs to mind his own business,” Keith growled, eyes flashing with heat.

Lance sighed, leaning forward and struggling to bury the twinge of guilt that twined around his ribs. “Are you doing okay, Keith?”

Keith’s jaw jumped, fingers tightening against his arms. And Lance cursed himself, cursed the tone that he’d used - almost too caring, too easily twisted into pity and condensation.

“Are you just here to report on me for Shiro?” Keith growled, and any of the camaraderie that Lance had felt before, the delicate lace of their relationship, ripped and crumbled in the wake of Keith’s tone.

“What? No, I would -”

He stood up quickly, hands dropping to his sides in clenched fists. “Well, you can tell him I’m fine. I’ve lived without him for a year, so I don’t need him now.” But his voice broke on the words, a fragile breath in the growing tension between them. “I’m going to take a shower. You can see yourself out.”

And he stormed off to the bathroom, expecting Lance to leave.

  


****

  


The hot water trailed down Keith’s back, and he softly cursed himself under the hum of the shower. He hadn’t meant to get so worked up, had meant to bite down on his anger and injustice that bubbled within him at the thought of Shiro. Their most recent talks had been so nostalgic, like they were settling back into a normal routine - slightly twisted and contorted in the wake of the last year, but homey and relaxing and everything Keith longed for.

But Shiro was Shiro. And he never let anything go, and the mere mention of asking someone to die, hiding the letter and its contents and boiling it down to nothing but that, had made Shiro latch on. He was dotting, especially as Allura began to see him as less of a Galran and more of Takashi, Altea’s Black.

So Shiro had called him. Katie had messaged him on every single platform he’d created since middle school. Matt had even come over.

And now there was Lance. Sitting in his kitchen. Threatened by even walking into Galra territory, but Shiro had somehow convinced him to sneak in only to check on Keith.

A small flutter resounded in Keith’s stomach, a blush heating under the scalding water. Scrubbing at his scalp, he thrust his head under the stream, drowning the blush in a flush of heat. He wouldn’t allow his heart to race, or his fingers to twitch and be glad that Lance had been the one to come see him.

He wouldn’t let himself fall deeper, even though in the past week his thoughts had drifted to the way Lance had held him, the taught heat of his skin under his fingertips, and the delicious intimacy they’d crafted with tequila on their breath. He hadn’t let himself long for the kinds of distractions Lance could bring.

Finishing his shower all too quickly, Keith stepped out of the bathroom, one towel wound around his hips and the other brushing through his hair. He glanced down the hallway to the kitchen before heading into his room.

No sign of Lance.

He wouldn’t let his heart fall, the sting of disappointment colder than the air that engulfed his heated skin.

Biting his lip, he stumbled into his bedroom only to find Lance sprawled on the floor, xbox controller in hand, tuck stuck between his teeth and brow furrowed in concentration. His feet were up in the air, swinging back and forth as he propped himself up on his elbows. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw myself out,” Lance smiled, eyes flicking up to Keith and lingering on his bear chest before darting back to the TV, “of the kitchen and into your bedroom.”

Dropping the towel over his head, Keith crossed his arms as if to cover his torso, still feeling the trails of Lance’s gaze over his flushed skin. “You know that’s not what I meant, Lance.” Lance only hummed in response, hitting the remote with his elbow and turning up the volume of the TV. “Lance,” Keith huffed, but he could barely hear himself over the sound of shooting and music of the game.

Keith reached over to grab the remote, but Lance elbowed it out of the way, hiding it behind him. Reaching again, he kept a hand on his towel, feeling it shift around his waist. Lance giggled underneath him, kicking the remote so it skidded cross the floor and under the bed.

With a huff, Keith stood up straight, planting his other hand on his hip and channeling his best impression of Shiro’s “I’m disappointed in you and all of your actions” look.

And Lance was completely unphased, snickering and glancing back at the TV, sniping an enemy without a scope. One eyebrow raised, Lance flicked his eyes up at Keith, smirking, “You snooze, you lose, Keithy boy.”

Determined to just ignore Lance and the amusement twisting his lips, Keith grabbed an armful of clothes and changed in the bathroom into a pair of loose shorts and a band t-shirt. Lance was still in his relaxed state when Keith strode back into the room.

“MCR,” Lance laughed, eyes darting along the lines of Keith’s body before settling back on the TV, “I’m not even surprised.”

“They’re classic,” Keith grumbled, forcing himself not to cover the logo on his T-shirt. Sitting on the edge of his bed behind Lance, he watched him play the game, too tired to fight with the Altean anymore.

Lance glanced over his shoulder at Keith, eyes searching like he was seeking the answer to something on the planes of Keith’s face. Keith nudged Lance’s sprawled foot, “You’re gonna get sniped if you don’t move.”

“Shit,” Lance jumped, looking back at the screen just in time to see the death screen flash and the music play. The game replayed how Lance’s character was carefully shot from the other person’s point of view, stalking Lance down the scope and waiting only a minute until it sniped Lance in the head.

“Sharpshooter is right,” Keith snorted, leaning back on his hands and eyeing the stiffness to Lance’s shoulders and the indigent way he placed the controller on the ground.

Spinning around to face Keith, Lance was forcing seriousness into his face, turning his lips into a crafted frown. “Keith, if this friendship is going to work out, you can’t keep making fun of my skills like that.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what your and Katie’s friendship is built on,” Keith smiled, feeling a lightness to his chest that he hadn’t felt since receiving Lotor’s letter.

And Lance couldn’t fight his smile at the sound of Keith’s words, standing up to full height and looking at him from above. Hands on his slender hips, narrowed gaze, and smile flashing brilliantly.

Keith snatched the controller off the ground and clicked out of Battlefield, scrolling through the games on his Xbox. “Let’s actually play a co-op game for once, and I’ll show you who’s the real sharpshooter.”

“Oh yeah?” Lance bounced on the bed next to Keith, crossing his arms and bumping his shoulder playfully with Keith’s.

He could feel the heat of Lance’s skin, smell the warm sea salt and caramel of Lance’s cologne and the subtle undercurrents of Legendary. Huffing a laugh, he pushed his shoulder back against Lance’s, lingering there to feel his heat and savor their closeness.

“More definitely,” Keith rebutted, looking at Lance out of the corner of his eye and from under the cover of his lashes.

“It’s totally on, Mullet.”

The night had been a break from everything Keith had been avoiding for days - the pressure, the anxiety, the brashness that demanded he run and sprint for the hills, but the horrible devotion he’d developed for his friends tethered him to this reality. The reality that existed inside the letter buried in the trash under containers of frozen food and boxes of pasta.

Every moment with Lance was high energy and distracting, from his smile and laugh and captivating stories and personality. And Keith felt himself drawn into that smile and the scent of his cologne, almost hidden beneath the stench of alcohol from the bar. Enjoying every bit of distraction Lance could provide, the Silver-Tongued Prince of Altea.

The soreness of his bitten fingertips was the thing that woke him - that and the low thrumming agony of his arched back and the numbness in his foot. Groaning, he rolled to the side, almost off the edge of his bed before the weight of an arm was slung over his waist, fingers that pulled him closer, trapped him with the arm that was positioned under his back. A huffing breath tickled the back of his neck. A soft mumble against his skin with soft lips sent a shiver coursing down his back.

The TV still blared the background music of the game they had been playing as sunlight streamed around the unopened curtains hanging in his window.

“Lance,” Keith whispered, reaching down and grabbing Lance’s fingers under the intention of wiggling out of Blue’s grip. His skin was too warm, heating and making a flush course over Keith’s neck.

Lance mumbled against his neck again, nuzzling in closer with a small sigh.

“Lance,” Keith’s voice was a little stronger, determined not to make this situation awkward - no matter how his thoughts raced or how his mind reminded him that this is why he ran the last time. His heart hammered over the sound of the TV, dangerously close to failure as his mind reeled, unable to grasp reality this close to dreams.

“What?” Lance huffed, hands tightening for a moment before both boys were a tangle of limbs in a startling realization.

Keith was pushed off the bed by Lance’s strong legs, careening into their discarded snack wrappers and controllers. “What the hell?” he cried out, pain radiating from his tailbone and the palms of his hands.

His gaze darted up to Lance on his bed. The shock that he knew was painting his own features was mirrored on Lance’s: eyes wide, blue and vibrant, but there was a small laughing smirk pulling at Lance’s lips. With his hair a mess and the neckline of his t-shirt stretched over his shoulder, Lance looked positively ruffled.

“Good morning,” he breathed, scratching the back of his neck and sheepishly not meeting Keith’s gaze.

Standing and rubbing the soreness out of his ass, he shot a skeptical look at Lance. “Yeah, a real good morning, being pushed out of my own bed.”

Keith stumbled down the small hallway to his kitchen, ignoring Lance’s complaints as he clicking on the gurgling coffee pot.

Lance rushed into the kitchen, skidding to a stop in front of Keith with lips parted and a pointing finger as if he was about to debate their sleeping arrangements from last night. At the sight of the coffee maker running, Lance leaned against the wall, smiling slyly. “Coffee and breakfast again? To what do I owe this honor?”

“Who said you were getting anything,” Keith joked, opening a cabinet to pull out the coffee grinds and two mugs.

“I know you wouldn’t let me starve.” Pushing himself up on the counter, Lance looked down at Keith. “You can ask Pidge, I’m unbearable when I’m hungry.” He poked Keith in the side, surprising the Galran and almost sending a spoonful of grounds spilling all over the counter.

With a scathing look, Keith turned to face Lance. “Either help or get out of the kitchen, Lance.”

“I’ll help. I’ll help.” He raised his hands placatingly before he jumped off the counter and opened the fridge to see it almost barren. “But, what are we eating?” He pointed to the empty fridge with a shrug.

Keith refused to admit that he’d been living off of Top Ramen and peanut butter sandwiches for the last three days because all of his produce had run out. And he didn’t want to go outside, because there were too many reminders of the letter and his objective and the pressures of being Galra.

With a sigh, Keith grabbed some of his frozen bacon out of the freezer, threw it onto a plate and into the microwave. “Is bacon enough?” Keith laughed, stomach grumbling in response.

Grabbing a box off the top of the fridge, Lance dusted off the top and examined it. “You do have waffle mix.”

“How about pancakes instead?” Keith suggested, knowing that the waffle maker Shiro bought all those years ago had only been used twice because neither of the boys could get it to make anything other than cremated husks of pastry.

Lance stopped, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms. “We all know that waffles are the ultimate breakfast food, Keith. Pancakes are just sad imitations.” His face was stern as if he was lecturing Keith on the hierarchy of breakfast foods. Eyes widening, he quickly amended almost dreamily, “Unless they’re Hunk’s pancakes.”

Shaking his head, Keith threw open and cabinet and reached for the waffle maker stored on the top shelf, out of the way and normally out of sight. He huffed when his fingers just barely brushed the metal and plastic exterior of the machine. Settling back on his heels, he debated grabbing one of the kitchen chairs to stand on, but he didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of Lance.

He heard Lance stifle a chuckle as he closed the microwave with his shoulder, placing the cooked bacon onto the kitchen table. Ignoring the Altean, Keith struggled once again to reach the waffle maker, only to push it further back on the shelf.

Heat suddenly encompassed his back as Lance pressed his stomach against Keith. Breath shuttered out of his chest, a rapid compression at the rate of his racing heart. Butterflies were released in his stomach, causing a wave of lightheadedness in the wake of their flittering wings.

Along the processes of his spine, he could feel Lance’s heartbeat - steady, controlled, and fluttering at the edges.

“Didn’t your parents ever tell you not to store heavy things up high?” Lance grunted slightly as he got hold of the waffle maker, hefting it’s weight to the counter beside Keith.

He could feel every contract and tension in Lance’s muscles. Heat soared to his cheeks at every tentative brush of their skin.

With a small sigh, Lance turned to Keith, one hand still positioned on the counter. Keith shifted his body so that they were facing each other, and he almost stumbled back when he realized how close they were - close enough that Keith could feel Lance’s breath fan his cheeks, feel the heat and coil of Lance’s muscles. His eyes were wide as they met Lance’s gaze, startled with lashes fanning against his tanned skin.

But neither moved away.

Longing too much for the warmth that grew between them.

The shock melted in Lance’s gaze, eyes tracing the bones of Keith’s face only to come back to meet his gaze. He could feel the trail the Altean’s eyes took, a searing tingle of warmth across his flushing skin.

Blush danced up Keith’s collarbones and settled along his cheeks. He couldn’t fight the way his eyes drifted down Lance’s features and rested on his lips. The Altean sucked one lip between his teeth before Keith could force his gaze back to those oceanic eyes, ashamed at being caught staring, desire so evident in every minute movement of his body.

Fluttering wings of butterflies danced against Keith’s ribs, a lightness to his lungs as his stomach coiled with anticipation.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t imagined kissing Lance - the way his lips would feel, slicked with cinnamon chapstick, and the small moans he could feel vibrate Lance’s chest. He actively fought against the more inappropriate thoughts that plagued his mind, the dreams of how Lance would beg for more or demand more, smirking and talking through the whole endeavor.

As if a moth drawn to flame, Keith leaned forward, drawn to the dangerous heat of Lance.

“Keith,” Lance breathed with a furrow in his brow, a conflict that colored his inhibitions and voice. His voice was a breathy whisper, nails scraping against the counter as if he was fighting the urges of his hands to grab and hold and caress. “We can’t,” but his words were more of a plead - for Keith to stop or for him to keep leaning forward.

But they were drifting together, the moon pulling the tides of the ocean, until they were mere inches apart. Their chests brushing with every inhale, a scrotch of desire with every touch.

“Why not?” he sighed, hand drifting from his sides to come to a rest on Lance’s slim hips. Keith’s fingers dug into his soft flesh, and almost daring to run the length of the hem of his jeans and actually feel the heat of his skin on his tracing fingertips.

He could feel the resignation in his own chest, the ache that would only intensify if they kissed, confirming the feelings that were floating between them - pinning down this transient state they inhabited, something like friends and something like lovers.

Because a love story between a Galra and Altean never ends happily ever after.

“Because -”

But Lance was cut off by loud knocking on the door. It was in a pattern almost childlike and playful, but haunting all the same.

They quickly jumped back, the distance cold and stark between them. Lance rubbed at the back of his head. “I should -”

Keith silenced Lance with a hand against his lips. “They’re not friendly.”

Nobody Keith knew would knock like that. Matt always knocked three times and attempted to open the door, even if it was locked 80% of the time, so that he could saunter in like he owned the place. Katie just texted him when she was here, if she came at all; she was more apt to meet at a coffee shop than Keith’s apartment. And Shiro - well, Shiro never knocked when they lived here together, but Keith knew he wouldn’t knock like that, not dainty and cheerful.

“Get in the bathroom.” Keith pushed him down the hallway, fear making his fingers tremble as he removed them from Lance’s cheeks. “Don’t make a sound.”

Lance nodded, eyes wide and hands clenched at his sides.

Once the bathroom door was closed, Keith straightened out his shirt, walking towards the door, but before he could reach it, another knock sounded at the door, loud and forceful.

He manufactured a scowl, half from a mask to conceal the anxiety that hummed in his veins and half from irritation at the timing of the interruption.

Opening the door, he was met with disturbingly familiar faces. Ezor jumped forward, smiling brightly as her ponytail of hot pink, frequently-dyed hair swung over her shoulder. Her blue skirt swished around her upper thighs as she sauntered into his apartment with a finger drawn playfully across Keith’s chest.

Zethrid grabbed the top of his door before closing it with massively muscular arms and a smug grin. Her hair was short and slicked back, highlighting the piercings that lined the edges of her ears. Crossing her arms, she casually leaned against the door either as a means to prevent him from leaving or as an intimidation tactic.

Bouncing into the kitchen, Ezor sat at the table and picked up a piece of bacon, smiling as she ate it.

“Hey Red,” Zethrid purred, voice deep and blatantly aggressive.

“Lotor was wondering what your progress on finding our newest donor was.” Ezor’s smile was playful, lips glossy with shimmery lipstick and bacon grease.

Keith crossed his arms, striding into the kitchen and pouring himself a cup of coffee. The machine was still processing the grounds, so each drip sizzled as it hit the hot plate beneath. Sliding the pot back, he casually took a sip. “I haven’t found any interested donors.”

Ezor grabbed another piece of bacon, waggling it between two painted fingernails, shaking grease onto the table. “Hmm,” she hummed, eyes narrowing as she snapped off a piece of the bacon with sharp teeth. “That’s interesting because from Narti’s reports, you haven’t left your apartment in the past week or so.”

“And no official word on any possible donors,” Zethrid cracked her knuckles one by one as if counting off the lies Keith had spouted in the few minutes of their visit, “failure or not.”

“Which is interesting, because I’m sure you know how much Lotor likes to be kept informed,” Ezor chewed another bit of bacon.

“I -” Keith stuttered, coffee cup shaking in his hand.

Rising to her feet, Ezor cut him off. She sauntered over to Keith, dragging her finger along the table and sending the plate clattering to the ground in a shatter of ceramic and grease. She pressed that same perfectly-manicured acrylic nail into his chest with bruising force. “So the question is, are you deliberately disobeying Lotor?” Her tone was saccharine, sweet enough to make Keith wince.

Zethrid stepped forward, smile bitter and the complete opposite of the air Ezor emminated. Flexing her crossed arms, she towered over him and Ezor.

“Of course not,” Keith stated, nails digging into the tender flesh of his crossed arms.

“So what is it?” Zethrid growled, eyes narrowing as she intently watched Keith’s reaction to her question.

Keith ground his teeth, attempting to find an accurate answer that didn’t sound treacherous or vulnerable. Or reveal that fact that he had an Altean hidden in his bathroom, an Altean he might be willing to betrayal Galra, his family, everyone who had ever loved him, for.

“Oh, I know!” Ezor spun in a circle, ballet flats gliding frictionless on his floor. “It’s because he’s in love with that Altean Blue, right?”

He couldn’t fight the flinch as Ezor’s words aligned perfectly with his thoughts.

Zethrid’s smile was damn near ravenous. She stood taller, and Keith seemed to shrink, grimacing and fighting to keep a blank expression on his face.

“Blue has nothing to do with my lack of progress on the mission,” Keith grumbled, attempting to sound nonchalant, and failing.

Ezor’s laugh was a sordid mix of bitter and joyful. “How can you work as a spy when you’re such a horrible liar?”

Keith opened his mouth to speak, but Zethrid’s fist flashed by his head, grabbing the blender Shiro had kept above the fridge. It was covered in a fine layer of dust since Keith hadn’t used it since Shiro left.

It shattered on the ground. Loud and inarticulate. Glass scattered everywhere, blunt shards around the now bent blades. Keith winced, not shifting his stance as the glass rained on the tops of his bare feet.

Ezor jumped back pointing a finger at Zethrid. “Warning next time, Zethy!”

Zethrid just shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“We wouldn’t want anything more valuable to break next time, Red.” Zethrid purred, eyes tracing the lines of Keith’s body as if examining the easiest parts to break and bruise. Keith shivered under her ministrations.

Ezor jumped over the broken glass to stand next to Zethrid, patting the Galran strong arm gently on the shoulder. Zethrid turned and marched towards the door, ripping it open with such force that the door knob dented the drywall of his hallway. Ezor gasped a little before snorting another small laugh.

“We look forward to an update, Red,” Ezor announced with an exaggerated wave of her hand. “Also, thanks for the bacon!”

And then she shut the door, leaving Keith standing in the kitchen surrounded by shattered glass and a half-eaten meal he didn’t have an appetite for anymore.

  


****

  


Lance crouched by the door of the bathroom, one ear pressed to the door, longing for the weight of his gun in the waistband of his pants. With trembling fingers, he flipped the locked at the sound of the front door opening. He wasn’t sure what Keith had meant when he said they weren’t friendly - were they unfriendly to just Alteans or to both of them in general?

The guests’ words were clear and unadulterated through the vents of the apartment. Their aggression was evident through their threats, poignant and punctuated and all directed at Keith.

What job were they discussing? What donor? How could Keith claim he was making progress when he hadn’t left his apartment in a week? Was this the reason for Takashi’s worry? But Keith was the Golden Boy of the Galra - how could he hesitate in a job, after he’d so emotionlessly harvested Harold’s organs, leaving him husk-like and still frothing at the mouth in a dark alley?

Lance stumbled back when he heard their words, sharp and startling and completely off topic from the discussion of Keith’s work.

“It’s because he’s in love with that Altean Blue, right?”

His heart stuttered around the sound of the unfamiliar voice. Sure, Keith and him had almost kissed, and sure, Lance had been struggling to keep his feelings under control, to contain and dismantle them because he was assured there was nothing good that came from love between an Altean and Galra. But there was a lightness in his heart that soared over his tremble of fear and worry - Keith loved him?

And the dark joviality of the words made the worry solidify in his chest, a confirmation of all of their worst fears, even if they were to just be friends - Galra and Altea were never amicable, never cordial, and never in love.

“Blue has nothing to do with my lack of progress on the mission,” Keith grumbled so low Lance almost missed it, a soft echo through the vents.

Lance had known Keith long enough to hear the constriction in his voice and the hint of lies that strangled the ends of his words. But were the lies concentrated around his feelings or his mission?

Chewing on his bottom lip, Lance was desperate to burst out of this bathroom and capture Keith’s lips in a kiss and say “Fuck what anyone else will say, because as long as we’re together, nothing else matters.” To scream it to the entire city.

Rising to his feet, he grabbed the doorknob as a means to curb the swell of his emotions.

“How can you work as a spy when you’re such a horrible liar?” the unfamiliar voice joked, light and playful and easily shattering every thought Lance had danced with.

Spy?

And he could imagine, Red sitting at the bar with Matt and other muscled, beautiful Galra laughing at Lance and everything they had talked about. Joking about how he’d convinced even the Silver-Tongued Prince of Altea to confide in him, to confess his darkest emotions, all the while spinning him around his gloved fingers and harvesting all of the information he’d easily provided.

A spy.

His heart sank, ventricles filled with cement and coagulated blood. Breath stuttering in his chest. How could he have almost kissed this man? A man that lied more easily than he served drinks or rode his motorcycle or laughed when he was comfortable, with little dimples that decorated his cheeks.

Part of him tugged and demanded introspection: Lance had been doing the same thing, spying and lying and only using Keith to keep his position in Altea, to keep his standing with his friends and boss.

Keith must have had a reason, must have -

Lance was startled out of his thoughts at the crash, shattering glass and a small wince of surprise. Jumping to his feet, Lance clenched his hands against the desire to bolt from the bathroom and challenge the people who threatened to hurt Keith. He held himself back, mind spinning, reeling, and dancing with a fog of confusion, until Keith lightly knocked on the bathroom door.

“They’re gone,” he mumbled.

Opening the door, Lance saw Keith, arms crossed and unable to meet his eyes. Lance leaned in the threshold of the door, debating on what to say - whether to pretend he heard nothing or confront Keith on everything they discussed.

“How much did you hear?” Keith’s voice was a tentative mumble.

“Nothing,” Lance breathed, unable to destroy the fragile heat between them. Keith met his gaze, brow furrowed and a small frown on his lips.

“Don’t lie,” Keith grumbled. “You can hear everything through the vents. I’ve heard enough of Shiro’s shower singing to know.”

There was a lengthy silence, tense and so cold compared to all of their interactions since Lance had taken Keith home from Legendary, drunk and scared.

Keith met his gaze, eyes stormy and dark and almost gunmetal grey. Standing taller than Lance had seen him in days, Keith clenched his hands at his sides and spoke in a clear, punctuated voice, “What did you hear?”

“Everything.” Lance’s whisper was a delicate breeze over a lake, causing barely-felt ripples to course through the air.

And Keith seemed to wait, wincing at the sound of Lance’s voice, as if waiting for Lance to scream and blame him, thrashing with hurt pride and a broken heart. But Lance only asked, “So you’ve been spying?”

Keith nodded, hands clenching tighter at his sides. His gaze unable to meet Lance’s.

Lance’s stomach turned, coiling and constricting like it was revolting against the idea. “How long?” As if that was the most important question? His mind demanded to learn what information had been shared, to find out the best way to protect Altea. But his heart was desperate for excuses, information and explanations to wash away this hurt.

“Long enough.”

“Is that why we’re friends?”

Keith’s gaze jumped to his, pain so blatant in his stormy irises. “No,” his eyes dropped to the floor, hands hanging limply at his sides, “you’re too high maintenance for that.” The joking tone to Keith’s words made Lance flinch, words too similar to the ones he had spoken to Pidge and Hunk less than a week ago.

Lance took a single step out of the bathroom, another step closer to Keith, not close enough to mimic the intimacy they had before the Galrans came bursting into Keith’s apartment, but a shameful mockery of it.

“You’re not going to ask why?” Keith growled, almost like he was affronted by Lance’s lack of melodrama.

“I already know,” he sighed, all too aware of the situation playing across the hallway from him, the guilt that finally showed itself on Keith’s features, blatant. “Lotor threatened you, right?” Keith’s gaze was wide with shock, lips parted, “I know you, Keith. You wouldn’t spy simply for Galra or for your duties.” His tone was dark, reflecting on his own actions.

“No,” Keith breathed, and Lance stilled. Staggering backward slightly, his gaze traveled the length of Keith’s body, desperate for a sign of who Keith Kogane really was, because the boy he’d gotten to know all this time wouldn’t be capable of spying. “Lotor threatened you and Shiro and - and your family. It wasn’t me. I could have said no if it was me,” Keith’s hands shook, fingers roughly digging into the meat of his crossed arms as if to hold himself together, “And I didn’t know what else to do.”

Lance met Keith’s gaze and saw such vulnerability there, desperate for redemption or understanding. Parting his lips, only breath wheezed between his lips, all words were lost.

Keith continued, taking a step forward, “I - I don’t want to lose this friendship we have, and I understand if you don’t trust me or -”

“I’ve been spying too,” Lance practically shouted, thoughts much louder than his rapid heartbeat or the breaths that struggled to fill his chest. Keith stilled before him, expression guarded. “For Allura. Mostly about Lotor and what Galra has been -”

“Why?”

Lance stilled at the sudden hostility painting Keith’s features, tensing his jaw and coloring his cheekbones. “W-what?”

“Why were you spying?” Keith stepped forward so he had to tilt his chin up slightly to meet Lance’s gaze, eyes stainless steel. “Were you just pretending to be friends?” And the anything else Keith debated on saying was ground by his gritted teeth, refusing to be voiced.

“Allura said she’d put me in the treasury,” Lance sighed, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, struggling to explain that it wasn’t simply the demotion that scared him, but the thought that he would be useless to all of his friends. He’d always been an outsider until he stepped through the doors of Legendary, and suddenly he was accepted and his skills were exhaulted, a sensation he’d never experienced before. It wasn’t something he was able to lose so simply - to be kicked out and discarded, a useless seventh wheel.

But he couldn’t seem to voice anything else.

“That’s it?” Keith growled.

Lance’s lips parted, and everything that followed was an exhaled whisper, “Altea is the only place I’ve really been accepted. I didn’t want to lose my position,” and he met Keith’s gaze, hoping for sympathy and understanding, “My second family.”

It took several minutes but Keith finally nodded, turning his back on Lance and striding back into the kitchen. Grabbing a broom from beside the fridge, Keith began sweeping up the scattered glass around the remains of a blender. Lance picked it up by the cord and raised an eyebrow at Keith, who merely shrugged and nodded to the trash.

Dusting off the waffle maker, Lance began making waffles in the tense silence of the kitchen. He jumped when pulling out the first golden-brown waffle at the sound of Keith’s voice, “So we’re going to have to see each other,” he sighed, “under orders, right?”

“Yeah,” Lance breathed, looking towards Keith and seeing a new weariness in the set of his shoulders and the bags under his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t do fun things, right?” Lance joked, desperate to get back to the ease of conversation they’d had before, the comforting warmth he’d longed for and dreamed about.

Keith halfheartedly shrugged as if he couldn’t commit to the level of trust they’d had before. That their relationship was as useless and broken as the blender that once scattered the kitchen floor.

His gaze suddenly widened looking at the waffle in Lance’s hands. “How did you do that?”

“Make a waffle?”

“With that demonic device,” Keith pointed at the waffle maker slowly cooking the next waffle, “yes!”

Lance laughed, holding the plate with one hand while placing the other on his popped hip, “Talent, Keith. Talent.”

Keith chuckled, smiling softly without his dimples showing. It was a similar atmosphere to the one from before, but Lance could feel every fractured edge.

  


****

  


Lance had left with an uneasy smile and with the uneasy agreement. They would see each other, they needed to keep the pretense of spying, providing any kinds of information to keep each other safe. But there was no promise of mending their relationship or talk of the kiss that almost happened. Just an unease that had become their new normal.

Keith chewed on his fingernail, attempting to curb his anger while struggling to understand Lance’s reasons. Sighing, he trudged back into his room, falling onto his bed with a stifled groan.

The reprieve he’d enjoyed with Lance was fractured, destroyed at the same moment as the blender that sat the bottom of his trash can. With that he buried himself into his games, ignoring the mission from Lotor and the new kind of peace between him and Lance.

Barely a week later, his phone buzzed with a text from Shiro, but Keith was in the middle of a campaign, absorbed in his game. Another text soon followed, vibrating the phone on the floor next to Keith, loud and obnoxious.

Rolling his eyes, Keith focused on the game.

But his phone rapidly vibrated with an incoming call, of course, from Shiro.

After the third call, Keith paused his game with the slam of his controller, picking up the phone. “What Shiro?” he growled, annoyed with him for bothering him so incessantly after sending Katie, Matt, and even Lance to check up on him.

Shiro’s words were like a slap across the face.

“What?” Keith coughed, standing on wobbling legs. Shiro repeated himself, anxiety clear and ringing in his voice. “We’ll be right there. Hold her off as long as you can!” He clicked his phone off, shoving his feet into shoes and pressing his second speed dial and running out of the house.

  


****

  


Lance and Keith hadn’t had the pleasure of talking in the few days since the incident, and anxiety had built up in his system like excess carbon dioxide - all he needed to do was breathe, inhale and refresh his lungs and mind. But he was still fixated on his conversation with Keith or the way they had been a breath away from kissing.

And unfortunately, the dinner rush was rather slow with people trickling in for a casual Wednesday happy hour. There was nothing to distract Lance from his thoughts, except making new drinks and talking with some of the regulars.

Lance leaned over the bar, watching Georgiana, the one of the regulars, casually sip at the new drink he’d been attempting to make. She scrunched her face, pushing the glass towards the bar with the tips of her polish fingers.

Groaning, Lance tossed his head back. “Damn, I can’t seem to get it right.” Lance shook his head, running a hand through his unruly hair.

Slender fingers reached around the costumer, pulling the full glass across the bar with a sly smile. Nyma nodded before tossing the drink back, ice cubes clinking and thin straw pinned to the rim with a single finger.

“God, that’s hell,” Nyma coughed, slamming the half-empty glass back on the bar. “Don’t try make a bastardization of a bloody mary ever again. Or whatever the fuck that is.” Her cough was short, but her smile quickly reappeared with the devilish lick of her lips, settling onto the barstool next to Georgiana.

Suddenly, Takashi appeared behind Lance from the other side of the bar, a heavy presence at Lance’s side. He placed a tensing hand on the bar, drawing Nyma and Georgiana’s gaze. “Nyma -”

But the soft ding of the elevator made Takashi and Nyma pause, her gaze slowly tracing his pinched features as if to decipher the tone of his voice. She stiffened on her perch on the barstool, fingers tightening on the edge of the bar. Her skin paled, eyes widening in fear as all the confidence she wore and emanated like pheromones evaporated.

Slipping off the seat, she smiled weakly to Lance and Takashi. “Well, it’s been fun boys.” Saluting them with a trembling hand, she stalked off towards the exit with hurried steps and a tight grip on her clutch.

“Klaizap,” a familiar voice called over the soft din of the bar. Allura stode beneath the parted curtain to the elevator before emerging into the small crowd. Klaizap, the broad-shouldered, muscular man that had easily attempted to drag Keith off the premises, stood in front of the door blocking Nyma’s exit with crossed arms and a fierce glare.

Lance stood taller, apprehension and bitter curiosity making him look to Takashi for any sort of answer. But all he saw was a mirror of Nyma’s panicked fear: eyes blown wide and jawed tensed. Takashi rushed out from behind the bar, walking towards Allura with hands placatingly extended.

“Allura,” he began, but she cut him off with a subtle raise of her hand. The members of the bar started to stir at the commotion, eyes drawn to Nyma with curiosity and none of the worry painting Takashi’s features. Lance grabbed the edge of the bar with white knuckles.

“Lance,” Allura smiled to Lance, but her eyes were sharp, deadly. He walked out from behind the back with measured steps and hands clenched at his sides.

He placed a gentle hand on Nyma’s arm, feeling the slight tremble of her muscles. With a small smile he whispered under the soft murmur of the patrons. “Please don’t make a scene.” Nyma seemed to relax in his grip, a resigned defeat in her posture. She nodded stiffly, turning around and following Lance’s to the elevator.

Allura stepped past them, letting the curtain cover the elevator with Lance and Nyma inside. He placed a hand in the threshold, holding the door open for his boss.

“A free drink on the house!” Allura’s voice was a bright color echoing across the soon cheering patrons. Lance cursed a little, digging his nails into Nyma’s bicep on instinct. Takashi was sure to be overwhelmed with the patrons stumbling to the bar, and Allura’s sly smile when she parted the curtain told him that that was exactly what she intended.

Allura hit the button to the elevator, not facing Nyma for the entirety of the short ride. She strode out of the elevator marching them down the hallway, heels punctuating each purposeful step with Lance helplessly dragging Nyam along.

The boss of Altea pointed to an interrogation room Lance was all too familiar with. Pushing the door open, he gently forced Nyma to follow. He ground his teeth and directed her to the chair facing the glass window. Lance stood sentry behind Nyma’s chair, hands heavy on her shoulders, prepared to act in protection of Allura.

Allura strode in, shutting the door with the pop of her hip. Much too casually, she sat in the seat opposite of Nyma, legs crossed and foot bouncing to an unheard beat.

Allura picked under her nails, leaving them sitting in an uncomfortable silence until a small knock sounded and Ryner entered with a small folder. As she took the folder and dismissed Ryder with a small nod, her smile grew into a hungry glint. She licked her finger and thumbed through the folder, pulling out a glossy piece of paper and delicately placing it on the table.

“I will give you a chance to explain yourself, Nyma,” Allura said, but her voice held no hope of negotiation.

Nyma’s laugh was pitiful, more of a huff and a muffled curse. “So you were still following me?”

Allura leaned forward, uncrossing her legs and planting her elbows on the table. She clasped her hands and tilted her head to the side. “You expect too little of me, Galran.”

Lance staggered backward, hands wanting to pull from Nyma’s slim shoulders, fingers barely resting on her tensing muscles. His throat constricted, thoughts swarming like a thousand insects in his mind.

Galran? So were Takashi and Keith both aware that Nyma was a spy for their enemy? Aware that she was hoarding information, weaseling her way into all of their hearts, only as a means to an end?

But how could he berate her for what she’d done, for who she was loyal to?

He couldn’t. Not after learning about Keith or watching the way Keith’s features and presence around him had changed so drastically after the truth had been revealed.

His hands settled more firmly on Nyma’s shoulders before he once again peered at the photo on the table.

Nyma was sitting on a bench in coffee shop Lance didn’t recognize - probably due to the fact it was deep in Galra territory, gauging from Allura’s accusation - with one leg draped casually over another man. He was tall, slender, and tanned skinned with muscular arms that peeked out of a grey vest, perfectly fitting in the city’s new chilling weather. His blonde hair was long in the front, dangling in his eyes that were fixated on Nyma with a look that betrayed so much about their relationship. She was nuzzled up against his side, grabbing a cup of coffee from him. His Galra tattoo on his inner wrist was exposed to the camera, almost blaring in the dark purple ink.

This must have been Nyma’s boyfriend. The one that got off to. . . yeah, thoughts for another time.

Allura tapped a pink-painted, pointed nail against the tattoo on Rolo’s wrist. “I guess the extended watch I placed on you was worth it.”

“How did you know?” Nyma asked, shoulders slumped as if she had resigned herself to this fate. The relaxation of her character was startling to Lance, feeling the way her muscles sagged as if she had been anticipating this from the first day she had walked into Legendary.

“Your eyes,” Allura commented, smiling sweetly. “You were too accustomed to gang life. And you aren’t as skilled of an actress as you think you are.” She picked under her nails as if Nyma wasn’t just outed as an undercover member of Galra. Lance had remembered Allura’s sobs and crumbling composure when Takashi had confessed to his past. And he wasn’t the only one that had noticed the still present rift in their relationship and the tension that settled around the bar like a thin layer of dust.

There was a moment of tense silence as Lance realized his hands were digging into the tender flesh of Nyma’s shoulders, curling under her collar bones. With a soft exhale, he relaxed his grip.

“So are you going to make this difficult?” Allura asked, raising a single slender eyebrow.

Nyma simply turned her head to the side, ignoring Allura’s inquisitive gaze.

Allura’s smile was malicious but tinted with a glint of excitement. “Good choice.” Her gaze settled on Lance, sending a shiver up his spine. “Nyma, what specific information were you sent in search of?”

Nyma ground her teeth, a soft clicking in her jaw as her only answer.

A small tsk from Allura was the only sound in the room. “Blue,” Allura called, voice hardening with each syllable, “please.” She merely nodded, and Lance understood everything she asked for. Everything she expected.

“Go ahead, Blue,” Allura demanded, rocking back on the back legs of her chair, arms crossed and features passive.

“But -”

“She’s a Galra tramp!” Allura snapped. “She deserves none of your respect or loyalty.” Allura slammed the front legs of her chair onto the ground, leaning forward and narrowing her eyes. “Or are you hesitating because of your new Galra boyfriend? Just because you fuck one Galra doesn’t mean you can have compassion for all of them, Blue.”

Lance shriveled at her accusations. The feelings he had finally been comfortable admitting soured in his chest, curling into themselves and rotting with shame. But part of him grew more confident in her hateful allegations, wanted to stand tall and tell her how Keith was nothing like the Galra stereotype: no harsh words or constant threats of violence or anything that Lance had originally expected and experienced from him.

He wished he could’ve said he was stronger, that the side of him that desired justice bared its teeth and told Allura to send him to the treasury or beat him but he wouldn’t do her dirty work. He wouldn’t sell drugs to his family or beat innocents.

But was Nyma truly innocent?

Grinding his teeth, he kept one hand on her shoulder, stepping around the side of the chair to face her. She turned to meet his gaze, the hardened glint in her eye so reminiscent of Keith when he’d sat in this same chair, wrists bound and screaming for Takashi.

With a small nod, she spurred him on - like she understood his struggle, understood the gang life and warring loyalties and the way you had to sell pieces of your soul as the price for everything you’ve dreamed of, for safety and family and acceptance.

He punched her across the face, feeling the subtle crack of her jaw under his trembling knuckles. One hand clamped deathly tight on her shoulder as she swayed slightly, head lulling to the side. Her eyes lidded, rolling back and losing their hardened glint in the dullness that settled across her irises. The other hand still hovered in the air, pain smarting in his knuckles, an echo of the actions he had just taken at Allura’s command.

Nyma moaned quietly, and her frame seemed more fragile under his shaking fingers. He stepped back behind her, holding her up a little lighter, fingers dancing along her neck to check her pulse.

Allura smiled leaning forward. “What are Lotor’s plans now that he’s leader of Galra?”

Nyma spit, blood splattering the ground and dribbling down her chin. She brought the back of her hand up to wipe her mouth, not paying attention to the flick of Allura’s gaze and the almost imperceivable nod of her chin.

Lance sidestepped the chair and punched again. A right hook aimed directly to her temple. But she shifted at the last second as if to escape him, making his knuckle brush her cheekbone and crash into her nose.

A small scream followed the echoing crack. Blood poured down her face, sputtering between her lips and staining the front of her chiffon top red. Her hands fluttered around her face as if to stop the blood or to assess the damage - not that she couldn’t feel the exact level of injury Lance had inflicted.

Lance’s hand ached as he brought it back to her shoulder. Shaking fingers sunk back into her flesh. His first knuckle started swelling as blood splattered as it dripped to her sternum.

Nyma moaned in pain, so much different from the distant moans of pleasure he had given her - pure and small coos littered with kisses and laughter. And he was the one that had done it to her.

His stomach roiled. The smell of copper and rust permeating the room as the few splatters of blood settled into the fine lines of his skin. It was like his first interrogation. He thought he might be sick.

This was worse than Marcelo. So much fucking worse.

He was a fucking monster.

His hands dug into Nyma’s shoulders as if to control the trembling of his hands and the bitter nausea.

But in a moment, the steely personna of the Galra settled around Nyma, and her bloody hands sunk back into her lap. An effect of the training signature to the Galra: never show weakness; victory or death.

Nyma didn’t seem to register his grip, eyes focused solely on Allura. Adrenaline tunneling her vision and blocking out all the pain as she used the back of her hand to wipe away at the blood that dripped down her lips, smearing it along her jaw only for more blood to cascade down in its place.

“Is Zarkon really dead?” Allura’s voice had turned steely, no longer finding any sort of twisted enjoyment in the interrogation. Her irritation showed in the pinch of her eyes and the grit of her teeth.

After a moment of silence, she nodded at Lance.

“Blue,” she demanded when he didn’t move. He grit his teeth and wanted to fight the clench of his stomach, to fight the loyality that bound them together, wash away the many memories and joy that he’d associate with Allura. There were the times when she was just his friend rather than his boss.

Sighing, she flicked her wrist, “Stomach is acceptable.” Her tone was lighter, but Lance could hear the disappointment.

He kept one hand on Nyma’s shoulder, steadying her and himself as he stepped from behind her again. He towered over her, facing her with one hand gripping her shoulder, but not blocking Allura’s view of the action.

Lance lowered his head, meeting Nyma’s eyes with a watery gaze. Her eyes were steely and slowly losing attentiveness as her head lulled and the blood dripped on her shoulder rather than down her sternum.

She met Lance’s gaze and he watched her shake her head, begging and pleading without words. Because they both knew well. Galra didn’t beg. It was “Victory or Death.” And the discovery of Nyma’s espionage was most certaintly not victory.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, so quietly that neither Nyma or Allura could hear.

He whimpered as he uppercutted Nyma in the stomach. She propelled forward with the force of his hit, knuckles digging into the bottom of her ribs and crushing her diaphragm. Spittle and blood splattered on his shoulder. Groaning, she fell back as all tension left her body.

She started sliding off the seat, but Lance caught and righted her with the gentlest touch possible. Her eyes were cloudy, and her head bobbed against her chest.

“Where is the Garla headquarters?”

But Nyma didn’t even seem to even hear Allura’s words, head slumped against Lance’s hands that were the only thing keeping her upright.

“Looks like we’ll have to do something more permanent to get answers.” Allura shook her head while pulling out her phone. She dialed a number, pressing it to her ear, bracelets delicately jingling down her wrist. “Yes, can I have a pair of pliers brought to room 3? Thanks.”

Nyma seemed to stiffen at the sound of pliers, weakly fighting against Lance’s grasp. But her struggles consisted of barely moving shoulders and hands that were smeared with blood clawing weakly at his tightening grip.

Allura clicked off the phone and sighed, placing it next to the photo. Picking it up, she examined the boy in the photo once again.

The door opened, and Allura turned with a saccharine smile. “Thank -” but her voice cut off as the muzzle of a gun poked through the barely open door. It swung all the way open with a sharp kick.

Keith stood in the doorway, sweat clinging to his brow, eyes narrowed. His chest was heaving. “I’m here for Nyma.” His gun shook in his hand with the fatigue of his muscles.

“Red,” Allura purred, her head cocked to the side as if examining Keith with cold analysis. “I’m surprised it’s you and not,” Allura tapped on the photo, “this fellow. Did Takashi call you?” She raised an eyebrow, and a flash of tension washed over Keith’s face in response.

“Lance,” Keith’s eyes didn’t stray from Allura, fully prepared for whatever heat she was packing - she wasn’t the boss of Altea for nothing, “bring Nyma into the hallway.”

“Blue.” Allura merely addressed him, not ordering him but knowing full well his choice. There was a tattoo of his loyalty on his wrist.

Keith shot a desperate glance at Lance before focusing on Allura once again. His hands had steadied, and each of his following breaths were deliberate. Steadying himself for whatever half-formed plan he’d committed himself to, stumbling deep into Altean territory, armed and most definitely dangerous. “Lance, I promise you I will fucking shoot your boss between the eyes unless you get Nyma into the hallway now!”

Allura reached for her hip, but Keith only stepped closer. “Don’t even fucking try.”

His boss sighed and nodded to Lance. Stealing himself with a shallow breath, Lance wrapped an arm under Nyma’s armpits and slung one of her arms around his shoulders. Her steps were languid and rolling onto her ankles. She was deadweight in his arms, smearing blood onto his clothes as she fell into him for support.

He walked carefully behind Keith, stepping out of the open door. Keith darted to Allura’s side, pressing the gun to her head. “Get up, Princess.” And every syllable was filled with derision.

Allura raised her hands, bracelets jingling as they fell down her slender forearms. She wore a small smirk as if she was in control of this entire situation. She followed each of Keith’s directions, leading them down the hallway to Legendary’s back entrance, one specifically used for drug deals or things they couldn’t just bring through the front.

Lance was almost surprised that Keith was actually aware of such an exit. But he quickly remembered how months ago Keith and Pidge had slipped out of Legendary without notice. Probably through this door.

They walked up the slender stairs, Allura first and Keith following closely after, gun pressed firmly in the small of her back. Lance staggered up the stairs, debating on simply carrying Nyma the rest of the way as her feet had given out long ago, acting in mere imitations of steps as they clambered up the slender staircase.

The scent of the alleyway assaulted Lance’s senses the second Allura opened the door with a scan of her hand - one of Pidge’s newest additions to headquarters. It smelled of rot and urine and gasoline of the idling car.

Matt sat in the driver’s seat, baseball cap pulled low with a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Gaze flicking to the open door, he clambered out of the driver’s seat to Lance’s side. Allura crossed her arms, rolling her eyes under Keith’s scrutiny.

Lance handed Nyma’s lose limbs over to Matt grabbing her feet as he laid her in the backseat. Her eyes fluttered closed, and it seemed as if she had finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

Lance stood by the car door, awkwardly waiting.

He fucking longed to jump in the car and not meet Allura’s gaze, disappointed and glinting with derision. To live in the hostile Galra territory, because Altea may not be safe for him much longer.

Matt slid into the driver’s seat. “Come on, Keith,” he growled, revving the engine and pumping the burning scent of gasoline into the alley.

Keith staggered backward, almost tripping over the curb. Walking around the front of the car, he was ready to slide into the back passenger seat to support Nyma’s head. His gun followed Allura over the car, but at the last second his gaze jumped to Lance.

He could feel Keith’s gaze travel over the streaks of blood on his clothing and settled in the creases in his hands. He knew that Keith could see the guilt that settled into the fine lines of his face.

And in a second, the car was driving off, leaving a faint trail of smoke and lingering stench of gasoline.

Allura huffed and walked toward the door that led back to headquarters. She stopped with one pointed shoe on the first step, turning to Lance. “That’s the kind of information you should be gathering, Blue. Take the rest of the week off and try to prove to me that you aren’t a useless member.”

She slammed the door behind her.

Lance’s knees gave out underneath him and he sunk to the ground. The knees of his jeans soaked up the liquid that leaked from the crack in the bottom corner of the dumpster. He ran bloody hands over his face and stifled his sobs that echoed down the length of the alley.

  


****

  


Nyma’s head rolled in Keith’s lab even as he held onto her cheeks with delicate hands. He glanced at Matt, focusing on keeping her positioned on the seat. With the sleeve of his jacket, he dabbed at the blood pooling under her broken nose. Her eyes fluttered, and Keith shushed her feeble whimpers.

He ground his teeth as Matt ran another red light, spinning into the back parking lot of Haggar’s medical practice, a small family doctor at the edge of the city. Grabbing Nyma under the arms, Keith dragged her out of the back seat. Her heels smacked the pavement before Matt rounded the car and scooped her legs up in his arms.

The back door slammed, drawing their eyes to Rolo running across the parking lot. He was tinted with rage, bleached hair wild around his face. “Nyma!” he cried out, placing gentle hands on her cheeks and inspecting the damages that Altean had done - that Lance’s fists had done.

Keith swallowed the revolt that swam in his stomach.

Matt pushed Rolo forward with his shoulder, Nyma’s legs still dangling limply in his grasp. Thace’s face was pinched with worry as he directed them to a small room with an examination table covered in wax paper. After they gently set Nyma down, Haggar walked in, snapping latex gloves in place.

“Haggar, you have to help! She’s -”

Haggar shushed Rolo with the flick of her wrist, walking to Nyma’s side. She pulled a small flashlight from her pocket, holding open Nyma’s eyes and inspecting her pupils as she ran the flashlight into her field of vision.

“Do you think she has a concussion?” Rolo growled, clenching his fists and gearing up for action.

“If you want to stay with your girlfriend,” Haggar snapped, holding open Nyma’s other eye and not meeting Rolo’s ferocious gaze. “Then shut up.”

Keith nodded to Matt, stepping out of the room. It had suddenly felt too crowded, too many bodies and the overwhelming scent of blood and sweat.

Shutting the door behind him, he only managed to walk three steps before leaning his back against the wall, struggling for support. Sweat made his t-shirt still clinging to his skin. With a sigh, Keith leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

He didn’t expect a call from Shiro would end up like this.

Admittedly, he had been avoiding Shiro, avoiding Matt and Katie, avoiding Galra, even avoiding leaving his apartment. He had sat in his room, curtains drawn and video game blaring, casting the only light in the room. Anything to distract himself from the letter, the responsibility of seeking out someone so desperate for money they would be willing to die.

And after Lance had come to visit - a visit that started with such tempting escapism and ended with the startling slap of reality - Keith didn’t want to speak to Shiro. He would have continued to ignore all of his responsibilities, but Shiro had called three times in succession.

“Nyma’s been burned.” His voice was an exhausted rasp when Keith had barked into the phone.

Keith growled, jumping up and tossing on a t-shirt and shoving his feet into boots only wearing one sock. Ripping his gun out of the small safe under his bed, he dialed Matt’s speed dial.

Jogging down the road, his gaze darted up as he heard the familiar honk of a car. Matt pulled over haphazardly, and Keith jumped into the passenger seat. Matt raced with rage pinching his features and fear tightening his grip on the wheel.

“What’s our plan?”

“Back door. Shiro will let me in through the employee entrance.” Keith looked out the window, enjoying the weight of the gun in his waistband. The ratty hoodie barely hid the telltale bulge. “I’ll grab her and bring her to you. Idle the car.”

They spun around Paladin Park swerving around pedestrians that were casually walking in the crosswalk.

“How will that -”

“I don’t know, Matt,” Keith snapped. “It’s not a fucking smart plan, but we don’t have time to think of anything else right now.”

Matt nodded, quieted and thinking. “I was at headquarters when you called. Rolo almost murdered Kolivan to get into my car.”

Keith laughed, bitter and forced. God, he could fucking picture how Rolo, savage and bloodthirsty, would thrash against the solid muscles of Kolivan, screaming obscenities and threats.

“They’re not going to be happy with us,” Keith sighed, seeing Legendary’s sign in the distance.

“Fuck no.”

They wheeled into the alleyway, where Shiro stood shadowed in the door, holding it open with open worry painted on his face.

Nyma had been part of the gang since Keith was 16. She had taught him makeup skills and laughed over dumb jokes and volunteered with a sly smile to decal his bike. She was like an older sister, a comfort that wasn’t as twisted by the sick power of the Galra as some of the other members.

Keith vaulted out of the car, running through the propped open door beside the dumpster. The hallways were quiet, surprisingly empty, except for the slim girl standing in the hallway before an interrogation room that was too eerily familiar. She held a single pair of blue pliers in her hand. Her lips parted in confusion before Keith drew his gun.

“Go back to your office.” His breath was rapid, shooing her with the flick of the gun. She carefully stepped backward.

Keith watched her retreat before carefully pushing open the door she had been just about to enter.

And he had seen it. Seen the way Lance stood behind Nyma with fingers digging into her shoulders to keep her in place. Blood splattered over his knuckles as it dribbled down Nyma’s chin, broken nose already swelling as blood settling in the bags under her glossy eyes. Her eyes fluttered as if she was on the brink of consciousness.

So he’d done the only thing he could, threatened the leader of Altea.

Keith thumped his head against the hallway wall of Haggar’s practice. God, this was totally going to blow the fuck up in his face.

And even in all of this commotion, he couldn’t help but wonder what Lance would do to him, a Galra spy, if Allura ordered it. Could he be held to that chair next? Beat to death by Lance’s hand, no playful banter or smiles or laughter or almost flirtatious glances that Keith had gotten so accustomed to. That maybe the relationship he’d wished for, defied orders for, wasn’t the same for Lance. Maybe Lance didn’t feel the same, or couldn’t with his loyality to Altea in the way.

  


****

Lance took a deep breath, steadying himself and finally registering the almost impalpable scent of the alleyway and the liquid that soaked into the knees of his jeans and down the length of his leg pant leg. Rising to his feet, he cringed at the grime that had settled on his skin. He wiped a hand over his eyes, drying them and feeling their telltale puffiness.

Pressing his hand on the discrete palm scanner, he heard the thud of the lock turning. The doorknob was cold under his fingers. The sun had fully set during his shift, making the alley colder than he had realized as chills ran up his arms.

The hallway was surprisingly silent as he walked, one shoe squeaking with foul liquid puddling every time he stepped.

He chewed on his bottom lip, debating whether or not to confront Allura now, explain himself or demand answers. Without thought his feet took him to the door to her office, hand poised to knock. But he paused, trying to gather his thoughts and think of something to say that would smooth the waters between them, as friends and as colleagues - despite the rage that still ravished his veins.

Lance sighed and sank against the wall, when he heard Allura’s voice clearly through the door. She was obviously angry, yelling and shouting like she had when Takashi’s past had been revealed. Normally she was a lion, fierce and always demonstrating her power in every movement she took. But she had been reserved in all of her mourning.

“How could you do this, Takashi?”

Takashi’s tone was derisive. “How could I? You force Lance to beat a girl senseless in the basement and then question _my_ actions?”

Lance cringed, rubbing his palms into his tired eyes as if to purge the memories - the weight of her limp body, the heat of her blood, the crunch of her bones, and the force of her pitiful fight.

“You know how Altea works, Takashi. Don’t pretend like this is new to you!” There was a crash like glass, shattering. And a moment of quiet silence. “She was a fucking Galra spy.” Allura’s voice was a harsh whisper that Lance almost didn’t catch through the thick wooden door.

“She was just doing her job, and I know that you understand that.”

Allura screamed back, tone rising and ripping and breaking. “You don’t understand what they’re like!”

“Oh, I think I understand perfectly, Allura.” Takashi met her in volume with a steady tone that only hinted at his anger. Lance heard rushed footsteps and the scratch of furniture. The door clicked as it opened roughly. Lance stiffened, drawing his legs in from his seat on the floor next to the door, desperate to get away before he was discovered.

“Takashi,” Allura’s voice was barely a whisper and the footsteps stopped. The door paused, Takashi’s pale hand resting on the knob. Lance heard his sigh before he turned and shut the door with a soft push. But the door swung back open a fraction, a small keyhole into Allura’s office.

Lance peered through the crack in the door to see the enormous mess Allura had made of her office, like a raging hurricane had settled in the center.

Allura sat on the edge of her desk, ankles crossed and arms holding herself. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and there was a tremble to her hands. She looked fragile, vulnerable in a way that Lance had never seen through her appearance as the bad-ass mafia boss she was.

The silence in the room was thick, stale as she chewed on her lip. But Takashi didn’t seemed disturbed by the length of time she took to speak again.

She had called him back for a reason.

“They killed my father.” She shook her head, tendrils of hair falling from her loosening bun. “Zarkon,” she clarified with a small huff of bitter laughter as if she still couldn’t believe his actions. “He fucking murdered my father over some goddamn drugs.” She bit her lip and tilted her head back, eyes tracing the lines of the ceiling tiles.

“And once upon a time,” her voice was burned spun sugar, cotton candy melting in acid rain, “we were friends. God, Lotor and I were raised like siblings.”

Takashi stepped forward to comfort her, hands extended and fingers trembling. “Allura -”

“So one day, Zarkon comes over in the middle of the night.” She snapped her head down to meet Takashi’s gaze. “Which wasn’t too unusual since they were both part of the fucking mafia.” She laughed at that as if remembering the times her and Lotor had spent early mornings and late nights together curled on her father’s parlor couch.

“But in the middle of a discussion, he pulls a gun on my father, demanding quintessence and revenge for fucking poisoning him.” She shook her head, weaving long fingers into her hair, pulling more strands from the bun in the frantic ticking of her fingers. “And Lotor pinned me to a wall with a goddamn gun to my chest.”

Her breathing escalated as her eyes fogged over, memories playing in the twitch of her fingers. Takashi stepped forward, standing right in front of her and pulling her fingers from her hair and soothing them in her lap.

There was new kind of resolve in the glint of her eyes, something Lance was more familiar with; a festering anger that consumed the overwhelming weight of her grief.

“So my father gave him everything he had to protect me, but -” Allura sniffled, shaking her head and biting her bottom lip until a small rivulet of blood ran down her chin, “- Zarkon tortured him.”

And she collapsed into Takashi’s arms, gripping onto his shoulders with clawing nails and rubbing her face into the crook of his neck. Her sobs were muffled, as half of her frantic words were lost to the collar of Takashi’s shirt.

“And Lotor just stood there, smiling like he was enjoying this. He - he was my first love - my first everything! And he planned and watched and fucking enjoyed my father’s murder.” Allura weeped, clutching at Takashi like she was drowning in her own bottomless sorrow and the bitter betrayal burning in her hoarse throat.

Takashi soothed her, and Lance leaned away from the opening of the door, resting his head against the wall, muffling his own tears with a firm hand over his mouth.

“Allura, please look at me,” Takashi whispered, comforting and pulling her face to his with the tips of his fingers.

“I know you’re not like them,” Allura whimpered, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, fingers trembling and shoulders shaking with wracking sobs. “I know you’re not one of them, but - but I don’t know who to trust anymore, Takashi. I just don’t know how.”

Takashi held her chin, making her look at him as he spoke with an almost stern voice. “You know who you can trust, Allura. It’s an easy question. I’m wholly devoted to you.” His words were stern as if he could convey his loyalty in the mere vocalization of his feelings. “And Lance, Pidge, Hunk, and Coran would take a fucking bullet for you.”

“How do you know that they’re loyal to _me_ and not just following my orders because I’m their boss?” Allura’s chin trembled, and her gaze dropped to the floor not meeting Takashi’s gaze. He didn’t respond, so she continued to speak, voice shaking and arms wrapping around her slender frame. “You think I don’t see it, but I can see how all of you are drifting away. You and Lance with your loyalties to Red and Pidge’s to her brother and finding her father’s murderer.

“So I’ll be the heartless leader you all expect of me so that you’ll stay here. With me.” Her voice was a mere whisper that Lance had to strain to hear it while peaking through the crack in the door.

Part of him shriveled at witnessing something so personal, but his legs were weak and Allura’s confession had brought new tears to his eyes. He had seen her in the aftermath of Alfor’s death, joining Altea a couple of months into her new rule. She was harsh and cruel in moments all while pinning him with a weightless smile as dazzling as the stars. It was Coran that had explained to him that Alfor had died and cast his daughter, too young and too hopeful, into this position of leadership. Allura had finally opened up to him, treating him like a younger sibling while retaining their professional relationship, teasing and loving and all the protectiveness.

Takashi brushed a strand of her loosened hair behind her ear with such reverence that Lance leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. “People follow those who they respect and those they fear. You have a choice to be the better of those two, Allura.”

Allura sighed and shook her head slightly. “I just don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

“Well, what do you want?”

“I want you.” Her voice was strong, declaratory and steady. But it wavered as she continued, “I wanted to say that I’m sorry. I -” But she cut herself off, like she didn’t know how else to convey the rest of her thoughts except with a small, withered smile and pleading eyes.

Takashi’s sigh held much more than a simple acceptance. “I accept your apology, but you’ve hurt more than just me, Allura.”

“It’s just -” Allura groaned, loud and exasperating as if fighting the rise of emotions in the core of her chest, “- Especially with Lance. I feel his loyalty wavering.”

“Have you ever considered it’s because of the situations you’ve put him in?”

There was a tangible silence between the two of them. Lance began rising to his feet, but stopped at the sudden call of his name. Everything they said was correct. His loyalty to Allura was wavering, but he’d only hesitated for a minute before following her directions to beat Nyma - so clearly he hadn’t drifted too far from her influence.

Takashi sighed, drawn out and low. “Talk to him, Allura. Stop using him to collect information.”

“But I can’t.” Her response was exasperated, threading on panicked. “Lotor’s too cunning. I know that he’s planning something, but I just can’t figure out what it is. Why else would he have Nyma here?”

“Please just talk to Lance. Apologize. You and I both know you stepped out of line.”

“Yeah, I know,” she sighed softly.

Lance straightened, pulling on the edge of his jacket, ready to walk away from the door and escape before they realized he had observed the entirety of their fight. He began walking, cringing every time his wet shoe squeaked on the ground over the sound of their ending conversation.

“You know I love you. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“I love you too, Takashi.”

He had almost made it to the end of the hallway, almost to escape, when he heard Takashi shout his name. “Lance!”

Lance cursed under his breath and clenched his hands in the deep pockets on his jacket. Spinning on the ball of his foot, he met Takashi’s gaze with a wide smile painted on his face. He casually tucked his grimy leg behind his clean calf, tapping the toe of his shoe on the ground and feeling the water run down the sole.

“Hey Takashi.” Lance’s tone was bright, purposefully so. Hiding the puffiness of his eyes in the crinkles of his smile.

Takashi’s smile faltered, eyes narrowing as he walked down the length of the hallway. “Allura wanted to speak to you.”

“Okay.” Lance nodded, feeling the edges of his smile sour. It seemed as if Takashi wanted to say something else, but he just let Lance go with a heavy pat on the shoulder. Chewing on his lip as he walked past Takashi, Lance fought not to reveal how he noticed the soaked shoulder of his shirt where Allura had cried.

Her door was left open a crack. Lance knocked twice with the back of his hand before striding in with his hands tucked deep into his jacket pockets, hiding how his fingers seized into fists.

She sat on the edge of her desk, one heeled foot tucked behind the knee of the freely swinging foot. In her hands was a broken picture frame, glass shattered and frame detached and hanging from a corner of splintered wood.

“Lance,” she spoke with a voice reminiscent of hushed nights, “please come in.” She placed the picture frame behind her on the desk with a small smile. “Sorry about the mess.”

“It’s nothing. Living with three younger siblings will desensitize you to any mess.” His tone was bright, a defensive mask that hid the weakness to his voice and the way his chest hurt with each inhale.

He shrugged as he stepped on glass that crunched with his weight. Slumping into an armchair that now bore a scar across its cushion, leaking stuffing and frayed fabric, he smiled up at her. He crossed his ankle on his knee, hands still deep in his pockets, attempting to look comfortable with this close proximity.

She tucked a couple loose tendrils of hair behind her ear before she spoke. “I would like to apologize. For today.” Lance stilled, breath stuttering in his chest as his right knuckles began to pulse with pain for every beat of his heart. She didn’t meet his gaze as she continued, “I should have never asked you to do that.”

“Asked?” Lance scoffed without thought, the word slipping between his lips as easily as breath. He cringed at his tone, turning his face away from her to the embroidered pattern of the chair.

“You’re right.” And with a sigh she seemed to deflate, shoulders slumping and hands sinking to her lap.

The fact that that was all she said on the matter made Lance’s blood boil. He could still smell the traces of the alley and Nyma’s blood on his skin. There was no way that kind of apology would suffice.

“You ordered me to beat her, Allura,” Lance growled, ripping his hands from his pockets to grip the arms on the chair. “You ordered me to sell drugs to my brother. You ordered me to spy on Keith.” With each derisive word he spoke, Allura seemed to shrink, nodding along to his list of grievances. He ran his hands through his hair and barked a bitter laugh. “Everything’s so fucked up.”

There was a stale silence in the room as Lance’s breathing returned to normal and Allura looked up from the ground to meet Lance’s gaze.

“I am most genuinely sorry, Lance,” she whispered. Lance opened his mouth to speak again, but she raised her hand, eyes closing as she thought. “I would like to explain all of my actions to you, but I feel as though they would come across as excuses rather than explanations. As a reflection of my actions, I have told all the members of Altea to not sell to Marcelo McClain unless otherwise directed by you. And I will not ask you to strong arm another interrogation.

“However,” she paused, fingers clenching together in her lap, “I must ask that you continue to see Keith as solely a means of spying on Lotor.”

Lance tapped his fingers along the ridge of the armrest, chewing on his bottom lip and thinking. With a sigh, he breathed, “I accept your apology. I just -”

But the rest of his words were cut off by the force of Allura’s body slamming into him and forcing him father into the back of the chair. She had flung her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder. Her knee was pressed between his thighs as she hugged him tighter. His hands drifted from the armrests of the chair to rest on the hollow of her back.

“You heard everything earlier didn’t you?” she whispered. Lance stiffened, fingers catching in her shirt. “It’s okay as long as it helps you forgive me for what I’ve done.” He relaxed nodding and pulling her in closer.

“You’ll always be my friend first, Allura.”

She sniffled at that, nuzzling her head in further. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered into his shoulder, soaking it with rogue tears she hid from his sight. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” he exhaled, tightening his hands into her shirt and tugging her closer. “I know.” And he shushed all of her worries until her tears ended and she dragged him up to the bar for dinner and drinks - on her of course. With puffy eyes, he followed her, enjoying seeing the friend he’d been missing these past few weeks.

At the end of the night, he stood at the door, watching the way Takashi leaned over the bar and smiled as Allura tossed her head back and laughed. It was reminiscent of the way life was before Keith had stormed through Legendary.

Part of him agreed with the nostalgia that promised that the past was easier, that this was all easier before he’d fallen for Keith.

But that didn’t stop him from smiling into the collar of his jacket as he pulled out his phone.

Lance: _I’m sure you don’t want to talk to me after today, but remember we promised to see each other every week for “information” ;)_  
Lance: _I was hoping you’d let me make you dinner or something ( ˘▽˘)っ♨_

His fingers tightened on the phone, heart stuttering in his chest as he typed the next messages.

Lance: _part of me wants to beg for forgiveness, but we both know I don’t deserve it. So I can only hope to earn your trust again_  
Lance: _and I can wait until that happens_  
Lance: _no matter how long it takes_

With a sharp sigh, he thrust his phone back into his pocket. He wasn’t sure if Keith would respond, but he could always show up with more limes and tequila and beg to be let in. Keith would probably huff and let him in - even if it was just for a swift beating as recompense for everything.

His phone buzz, and he pulled it out so quickly it almost slipped from his fingers to the sidewalk.

Keith: _lets just start with dinner_

And the first snowflake of the season melted on the screen of his phone as he stared at the message Keith had sent him. His smile bloomed in the first snowfall, that painted the city in hues of white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmmmm, Lotor and Allura's stories of how their fathers fought (and subsequently died) is different? Hmmmmmmmmm, I wonder _whhhyyyyyy_?? (￢‿￢ )
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this chapter!!
> 
> Kudos and comments seriously mean the world to me! <3 I would love to know your thoughts on the chapter, and dropping a comment lets me know that you guys are still reading ~~even after so long without updating~~!!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com)!! (°◡°♡)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!  
> Comments and kudos mean everything to me! Please let me know what you thought!  
> Or you can come scream at me on my [tumblr](https://voltronhastakenovermylife.tumblr.com/)!! <3


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